


Let the World Spin

by wesleysgirl



Series: Let the World Spin [1]
Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-27
Updated: 2012-05-27
Packaged: 2017-11-06 02:55:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 77,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/413929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wesleysgirl/pseuds/wesleysgirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU after "The Gift." Spike promised Buffy that he'd look after Dawn until the end of the world, and he will.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let the World Spin

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to KellyHK, SoundingSea and Windsparrow for the betas.

  


**I. Find Me A Dying River**

As far as Spike is concerned, the world stopped turning the night Buffy died. So when it stops for real, in a hellmouth-sized explosion that blots out the sky with debris for days afterwards, it's just another step closer to how he's been feeling. 

Still, he's surprised at the ache in his chest when he finds the witches dead. Red's curled up around Tara like she was trying to protect her, but there are holes through each of them. Magic's like that sometimes. Try to do too much, try to channel more than your body can handle, and you end up in tatters. 

Dawn's not there, but one of her little shirts -- pink, with a red heart on the front -- is, and there's blood on it. There's a handprint on the wall painted on with her blood as well, as perfectly delineated as if she'd done it carefully. 

There's blood everywhere, the smell of it mixing until he can't tell one from another, and he has to assume that she's dead because really, it'd be better. 

Spike crosses town, casually aware of the fires that seem to have sprung up from nowhere and deliberately ignoring the vamps and demons and their screaming victims. He can't help everyone. 

Couldn't save the one person that mattered most, after all. 

The watcher's flat's got a busted door. Splintered wood, and under other circumstances Spike might not look at that too closely, but as it is... he enters with caution, calls Giles' name. 

There's no answer, so he investigates further. 

Giles is in the kitchen, in little pieces. 

Spike goes away quickly. 

Xander and Anya's building is a mountain of rubble. Smaller than it ought to look, he thinks, as he considers trying to pick his way through and then gives up. If there's anyone still left alive in there, Spike doesn't think he'd be doing them any favors by getting them out. 

You'd figure liquor stores would be the first looted -- by the living or the undead -- but the first one Spike comes across is pristine, like nothing's happened. No clerk, of course, but otherwise you could pretend nothing's gone wrong. 

He strolls the aisles, picking up the first bottle of decent stuff he sees and swigging from it as he shops. He's tempted to take a whole trolley full of booze and do a right good job of it, but then he'd have to haul the bloody thing with him. 

Or, Spike realizes, he could just sit down in the middle of the store and get sodding pissed. Not as if he has anything else to do. 

Still, sooner or later someone's gonna get the same idea he did and come along, and he probably shouldn't be here when that happens. So he grabs a few more bottles, tucking two into the big pockets of his duster and carrying the other two, one in each hand. 

Weapon or anaesthetic, it's all the same. 

He should leave Sunnydale, Spike thinks as he starts walking in no direction in particular. Doesn't really have any ideas about where to go. Fuck, chances are good he's only got a few weeks of unlife left, considering what's happening. 

The Hellmouth was bound to have opened at some point. Shouldn't come as a surprise that it was now, without a Buffy to stop it, to save the world... 

Spike leans against the wall that happens to be beside him and slides down it, his duster billowing out only slightly. The bottles make a gentle clink against the pavement. He can smell gasoline and the sickly, heavier scent of flesh burning. There's the sound of breaking glass, and things exploding that shouldn't be, like houses and cars. 

He takes a good long pull from the open bottle and watches as three demons run past, chasing a screaming man who's bleeding profusely, leaving a dark wet trail behind him. S'almost as good as a movie, he thinks, but then there's a higher pitched scream from a street or so away, a girl's scream. 

And just like that Spike's on his feet and moving toward the sound before he can even think, because it's a young girl and for all his earlier convincing himself that Dawn would be better off dead, where she couldn't hurt anymore, part of him thinks it might be her. 

Turns out it's not, of course, but he dusts the vamp that's got the girl by the throat anyway, and she collapses to the ground in a weeping tangle of limbs. Looks a bit like Dawn other than the hair actually \-- about the same height. 

"Go somewhere safe," he tells her roughly. Not that there's anywhere safe, but fuck, it's not like he's gonna play personal bodyguard to every teenaged girl he comes across. 

Spike leaves her there, crying. 

Never finds out what happens to her, and doesn't care to guess. 

* * *

Three days later. 

Spike hasn't left Sunnydale. Keeps telling himself that he should, that tomorrow'll be the day, but somehow he can't bring himself to leave the place where Buffy died. The place where Dawn died, when he'd broken his promise to Buffy a second time. 

He hears rumors, but they're fewer and further between now. Vampires don't trust him, humans sure as fuck don't trust him once they find out what he is, especially since the Hellmouth blowing seems to have shorted out the chip in his head at the same time and he can eat anybody he wants to. So there aren't a lot of conversations these days. There are some folks holed up at what used to be the police station -- got themselves some kind of doctor, or so he's heard. 

On a couple of occasions he hangs out there, keeping an eye on the place, mostly out of curiosity. 

It's not until he finds out they've got themselves a girl that Spike really gets interested. 

Two nights in a row he can hear her crying, nestled up close on the other side of the wall. Quiet sounds, muffled. The second night, the soft sounds are followed by shrieks, a violent struggle. Spike knows it's Dawn in there just as surely as he knows what's happening to her. 

He storms the building, punching out one of the two blokes on guard and ripping the gun from his hands before the guy even has a chance to react. The other one shoots him, of course, but it just goes through his upper arm, a hot sear that he ignores while he blows number two's brains out through the back of his skull. 

Spike shoots six men on his way to Dawn, as casually as he might drop a cigarette butt onto the ground and with no more thought. 

She's on a narrow cot in a room that must have been a barracks for policemen on the night shift, and there's a big guy got her pinned down, shoved her thighs apart and fucking her. A vicious anger so pure that it nearly blinds him rushes through Spike like lightning, but amazingly he's got the sense to yank the guy off of Dawn before holding the muzzle of the gun to his temple and pulling the trigger. Bone shards and brains and blood explode into an arc that hits the wall with a wet smacking sound, and Dawn cringes away toward the head of the cot, twitching her short skirt down over her thighs like it's automatic. 

"S-spike?" she says, and her voice sounds younger than he'd remembered. "He was... I couldn't..." 

"It's all right." Spike points the gun at the floor carefully, not wanting to scare her any more than she already is. The numbness he's felt for days is gone, and now he feels strong again. Rejuvenated. He knows how to take care of her, and he will. "I'm here, and I'm gonna take care of things from now on. Okay?" 

She nods, trembling. There's lipstick on her mouth, smeared. "O-okay." 

Spike holds out a hand to her, and she reaches out and takes it. Lets herself be pulled to her feet, her other hand smoothing down her skirt again. Her fingers are small and cold in his. "Anything here you need?" 

Dawn shakes her head slightly, then hesitates and takes three steps to the side and kicks the shattered bastard lying on the floor, all without letting go of Spike's hand. "No," she says, sounding more like her stubborn self. "Let's get out of here." 

* * *

So that's when they leave Sunnydale. Part of Spike wonders if he knew, on some level, that she was still there, still alive, and that's why he stuck around. The rest of him thinks that's bollocks, of course, but it doesn't keep him from wondering. 

He breaks the back window of the first decent-looking car they come across. Gets Dawn sitting in the front seat, belt on and door locked, then hot wires the car and they take off. 

"Are you hurt?" Spike asks her, after they've cleared Sunnydale and hit the open road. 

"N-no," Dawn says. She's got her arms wrapped around herself like she's cold, and Spike turns up the heat. "I mean, that wasn't the first time he... and some of the others did too." She pauses, then in a smaller voice admits, "It hurt the first couple of times." 

Spike wants to touch her, to comfort her, but he thinks there's nothing he can say, and that there's been enough touching. "I'm not gonna let anyone hurt you again," he promises, even though it's not a promise he'll be able to keep. 

Dawn nods. "Where are we going?" 

"Away," Spike says, then glances at her again. "Where do you want to go?" 

"It doesn't matter, does it? I mean, it's all going to be like this, right?" 

Christ, he wants so badly to be able to say no. "Yeah," he says finally. "It'll all be like this." 

"Then it doesn't matter." Dawn sits back in the seat and looks out her window. "Away. That'll have to be good enough." 

Within an hour she's asleep, curled up into a little ball like she's trying to make herself seem smaller. Like she's trying to hide. 

It makes something in Spike's chest hurt, knowing what she's already gone through, and what's probably still ahead of her. The pain throbs right along with the healing gunshot wound in his arm. He knows that he can't keep her safe, but stubbornly repeats to himself that he will. He's not going to let her down again. 

Not again. 

* * *

Dawn wakes up when the car stops, but for the first few seconds she doesn't remember where she is, and she sits up with a gasp, her heart pounding in her chest like a terrified bird that's trying to get out. 

But Spike's right there. 

"Sorry," she says, before he can say anything that will just make her feel broken. "I was -- I'm awake." 

"Wanted to get you some food," Spike says gruffly, gesturing at the convenience store they're parked in front of. "Fill up the tank. Place looks empty." 

The store is still lit up. Dawn figures sooner or later they're going to lose all the electricity, but for now some places still have it. "Come in with me?" she asks, hoping she doesn't sound too scared as she says it. 

"If you think you're leaving my sight any time in the next couple of weeks, you've lost your mind," Spike says, then looks sorry that he said it, which Dawn isn't sure she gets, because actually it makes her feel better. 

The store's been looted -- there's broken glass all over the floor, which is sticky with something brown that Dawn tells herself is Coke. Or maybe Pepsi. The taste of a new generation, right? 

Spike grabs a package of trash bags off the shelf, rips it open, and hands one to her. "Take whatever's still good." 

What she really wants are things that convenience stores don't have -- comfort foods. So Dawn settles for half the chocolate in the store, sweeping armfuls of it into the bag and not caring when lots of them scatter onto the floor. She takes six packs of soda and boxes of crackers and canned soups and a bag of marshmallows. Breakfast cereal in those assortment packs of mini boxes, all sugary ones except for the frosted mini wheat that always gets left for last. 

The milk in the refrigerated section is warm and kind of starting to smell bad, so she moves on. There's bottles of wine and six packs of beer, and she takes a few of each, but then the bag's starting to get heavy and she's afraid it might rip. 

Spike has his bag thrown over his shoulder like some weird version of Santa Claus, and the thought makes her smile, but that feels wrong too. Everything's twisted, warped. Probably even her smile. 

They go back to the car, throwing the bags into the back seat where they slide, spilling boxes and things out onto the fabric and then off onto the floor. Spike fills the gas tank. 

They start driving again. 

Dawn realizes after a little while that she's hungry \-- she never felt hungry in that place -- and gropes into the back seat for something. Her hand closes around a candy bar, so that's what she eats, and then another. "So where are we going?" she asks. 

Spike gives her a look. "Thought we went over that earlier." 

"No, I mean... how will we know when we're there?" The chocolate's way too sweet in her mouth all of a sudden, and she sets the last bite down on the dashboard. 

"We probably won't," Spike says. "Not until we've been there a while." 

She feels cold, even though the heat is on practically full blast. She thinks back to their house, to her warm jackets, and tries not to wonder if it's still standing. "Everybody else..." she says hesitantly, but Spike shakes his head, just once, before she can finish. 

"No," he says. 

Dawn knows that's true -- knows that they'd have been with him. Her thoughts are fragmented, leaving each sentence carefully unfinished so that she doesn't have to really acknowledge anything. 

They're all alone. 

"I didn't think you were going to come for me," she says. The car's quiet. And then, "I didn't think anyone would." But deep down she thinks maybe she did know he'd come, because there was a part of her that was waiting for him. He's safety. 

"I'll always come for you," Spike says. His hands are tight on the steering wheel, gripping it like he'd rather be breaking things. 

"You wouldn't be able to if you were dead," Dawn says reasonably. 

"Yeah, well actually I already am, and it's a bloody good thing." Spike's still staring out the windshield. "We'll go a few more hours, then find somewhere to stop before the sun comes up." 

Dawn settles back in her seat. "Okay." 

* * *

They sleep in the same bed because Dawn wants to and because Spike can't bear to let her out of his sight. He's careful to leave some space between them, but even still he can feel her warmth seeping toward him under the blankets, creeping like the tide. It makes his chest feel tight, and something in his gut stirs, something he refuses to give any attention to. She's just a girl. 

She's asleep in minutes, so quickly that he wonders if she'd slept at all in that place. He doesn't even know how long she was there for, or what else they might have done to her, and he's not sure he wants to know. He'll listen, if she needs to say it, but otherwise he'd rather not hear it. 

Her breathing's regular, comforting, and Spike realizes that this is the most okay he's felt since it happened. Like as long as she's safe, he can breathe too. 

* * * 

Dawn wakes up before Spike, and he's quiet. He's facing her, his eyelashes dark against his cheeks, looking peaceful and young and all kinds of things he's not. 

She wonders if this is what shell-shocked feels like. Or maybe it's denial. Isn't that one of the stages that's supposed to happen after someone dies? She's already been through that, once with Mom and then again with Buffy, and now it's, like, the whole world that she's mourning. Only she's not because it doesn't seem real, so that must be denial. 

She wants to wake Spike up, because being in this quiet house that they didn't even have to break into -- because the door wasn't locked -- should be freaking her out. But it's not. She just feels kind of... numb. And it's not so bad. 

Slipping out from between the covers, Dawn goes to the window, but she remembers in time that letting the sunlight in wouldn't be a good thing. 

The house is so quiet. She creeps down the stairs to the kitchen and opens the refrigerator, then closes it again really fast because the smell is totally gross. There are crackers in the cabinet that aren't opened, so she eats those instead, and then she finds a bottle of wine. Wine goes with crackers, right? 

It takes longer to find a bottle opener, and she doesn't really know how to use it. The cork ends up splintering into a whole bunch of funny little pieces, but after a while Dawn gets them out. She wonders only briefly if she should look for a wine glass, then decides to drink straight from the bottle. Not like she needs to hide anything. Not like she needs to do 'the right thing', whatever that might be. 

The wine is a deep red, almost purple when some of it spills onto her ratty blouse. Maybe drinking out of the bottle wasn't such a good idea after all. But it makes her realize how totally disgusting her clothes are, for the first time. 

Dawn drinks almost a third of the bottle before she starts to feel sick, and by that time the sun is setting. The crackers help, and then not really, and she tosses them across the room at the same time Spike appears in the doorway, making her shriek. 

"Having a picnic?" Spike asks. 

"Uh-huh," she says, defiantly. She looks at him steadily as she takes another swig of wine from the bottle, daring him to say something about it. 

"Any good?" He strolls over and takes the bottle from her hand, drinks some, then gives it back to her. 

"Aren't you supposed to tell me I'm too young to drink?" 

Spike looks at her, then blinks, like he's realizing that she needs him to pretend things are normal. "Oh, right. Look, give me that. You're too young for wine." He takes the bottle from her again and sets it on the counter. "Beer, on the other hand..." 

Dawn smiles, even though it feels wrong on her face. "That's okay. It tastes gross anyway." She thinks maybe she's drunk, and she's cold again. "Do you think there's any hot water?" 

"Depends," Spike says. He goes over to the sink and turns it on, waits a minute. "Seems to be," he shrugs. 

With the prospect of a shower -- or okay, maybe a bath, because she isn't sure she could actually stand up long enough to take a shower -- Dawn's skin crawls, like a shiver. She gets up from her seat on the floor, then leans on the counter as the world spins sickeningly. The taste of wine is suddenly sour at the back of her throat. 

"Had too much, didn't you," Spike says, coming over and cupping her face, tilting it so he can look at her. She shivers again, and right away he lets go, stops touching her. "You gonna be sick?" 

"No," Dawn says stubbornly, even though she thinks the answer's more like 'yes' and 'get out of my way' and there's no way it's all about the wine, because she can feel those men's hands on her now, hurting her. "I just want a bath." 

She makes it into the bathroom on wobbly legs and shuts the door under her own power -- go, me! -- and starts the water running into the tub before she throws up into the toilet. At least getting it out of her system makes her feel better, even if she does have tears in her eyes and a seriously gross aftertaste in her mouth. She looks through the cabinets for a new toothbrush, knowing that the chances of finding one are probably slim to none, because even though she knows they'll probably both be dead in a few weeks unless they're really lucky -- _don't think that, don't think it_ \-- she can't bring herself to brush her teeth with someone's used brush. 

Swishing some mouthwash around instead, Dawn glances in the mirror and is surprised to see that, other than the bed-head hair look, she looks the same. She'd thought there'd be something different. She's not sure what. 

She fills the tub almost to the top and then strips off her clothes and eases into the very hot water. It stings scratches on her thighs that she hadn't even known were there, and the place between her legs ( _her cunt_ , her voice whispers in her head) aches with a raw soreness. There are fingerprint-shaped bruises on her breasts, and something else that she thinks might be a hickey. 

After that she doesn't think about it anymore. 

* * *

Vampire hearing being what it is, Spike knows that Dawn was lying about not needing to be sick, because he hears her. There's something about the way she's carrying herself -- well, that, and what he knows happened -- that tells him she's more fragile than she's letting on, and it's as hard to let her shut herself in the bathroom as it was earlier that morning when all she needed to do was pee. Seems ridiculous to ask her to leave the door open, since it makes perfect sense she'd want privacy, but it's not easy to hold the words in. 

Feels like they might choke him. 

Sounds like she's okay, so Spike just leans against the door for a while, smoking and listening to the gentle ripples of the water in the bathtub as she washes up. He stubs the butt out on the floor -- not like they're gonna stay here, or like anyone else is going to -- then realizes that she doesn't have anything else to wear but what she'd had on, and who knows how long she's been wearing that. 

He goes through the house, all the dressers and closets, but can't find anything suitable. She's such a little thing, all wide eyes and shining hair like a doll. 

Spike figures there's probably something that'd fit her in one of the nearby houses. Maybe once she gets out of the bathroom, they can go looking. 

He waits a few more minutes, then knocks gently. "You okay?" He tries to sound casual. 

"Mm-hm," Dawn says. He can hear more water splashing. 

"You need anything? Um..." Can't actually think of anything to offer her, and knows he's being an utter ponce. 

"I'm _fine_ ," Dawn says, and now he can hear the irritation in her voice. It's a warning, and he knows her well enough to tell that she's not joking around. 

So Spike goes back to the kitchen and finishes the bottle of wine, then digs around in the cupboards until he finds the rest of the liquor stash and helps himself to a swig of cheap whisky. No way he's going to get pissed, not any time soon, but he can take the edge off at least. 

It's a good twenty minutes before the bathroom door opens and Dawn appears, dressed in the same clothes she was wearing before and looking like she's not thrilled about it. Her cheeks are flushed with warmth, her lower lip slightly swollen as if she's been biting it. "Do you think there's a mall around here somewhere?" 

Spike sets the whisky bottle down on the counter behind him and shakes his head. "No malls." 

"There's got to be one somewhere." 

"I'm sure there is, but we're not going near it. Places like that'll be death traps." He moves past her, patting his pocket to make sure he's still got the car keys. "Can check out some of the nearby houses if you want." 

They break into four houses before they find stuff that fits Dawn -- jeans, socks, tops, sweaters. She insists that she'd rather go without panties than wear someone else's, and as someone who's just as happy to go without himself, Spike understands. She's still going to need shoes other than the little ballet slipper things she's got on, which are looking pretty shabby, but at least she's got something more than a short skirt and a thin blouse. 

With Spike looking in the other direction, Dawn changes into some of what they've found, then picks up the rest in a bundled armful. "Okay." 

It's pitch dark when they get into the car, but Spike doesn't see where that matters. If they want to keep moving -- and if they want to keep Dawn alive, they'll need to -- she's gonna have to adjust to sleeping during the day and being awake at night. Fuck it, she can sleep all the time if she wants to, and maybe in some ways that'd be better, for a while anyway. It's a lot to take in, losing everyone and everything at the same time. 

He should know. He lost Buffy. 

She's eating another candy bar. 

"That gonna be your diet from now on?" Spike asks. 

"Why not?" Dawn sounds sullen for the first time, and it grates at him even though there's part of him glad that she's still able to be. "It's not like... I mean, I might as well get fat, right? That way I can be a good meal for whoever gets to eat me." 

"No one," Spike says tightly, "is going to eat you." 

"Please. Do you think I don't know a lie when I hear one? I'm not stupid." 

Spike sighs. "I didn't say you were." 

"Maybe not, but you keep saying things that aren't true. That you're going to keep me safe, that you won't let anyone hurt me." Dawn pauses, then reaches out and pokes him in the side. "Liar." 

He swats at her hand. "Knock it off." 

"Make me." She does it again. 

"I said _knock it off_." His voice is sharper this time, but she doesn't seem cowed, and this time when she jabs her fingertips into his ribcage Spike reaches down and grabs onto her hand. "Stop." 

Spike can feel her trembling, but he's not sure if it's with anger or something else. 

"Promise me that nothing's going to happen to you," Dawn says. 

"I promise," he lies. 

"Promise that you're not going to leave me." Dawn sounds so young, and yet like she knows what she's asking. Still a little girl, but wise beyond her years. " _Promise_." 

"I'm not going to leave you," Spike says, each word slow and careful, like the way their fingers are twisted together. 

They drive in silence for a little while. Then, "Why didn't we go to LA?" Dawn asks. 

"Because when something like this happens, last place you want to go's the big city." 

"But there are people there," Dawn says. "Angel." 

Spike sighs. " _If_ he's not so much dust by now \-- and that's a big if -- he wouldn't thank me for taking you into LA to look for him. He'd want you safe." 'Course, what Angel might want isn't Spike's concern, but he wants Dawn off this line of questioning as fast as he can get her there. 

"So we're just going to keep driving?" 

"That's the plan, yeah." 

Dawn slouches down in her seat, staring at the dash. But she doesn't let go of his hand. 

* * *

Turns out that in the long run it doesn't matter that the chip's gone wonky, because Spike doesn't feel right feeding off the few people that are left. 

It's all Dawn's fault, of course. If it weren't for her, he'd be having a bloody feast, literally, and instead he's drinking animals' blood half the time and hungry the other half. The fact that she gets her non-existent knickers in a twist about him feeding off somebody's pet just irritates him all the more, and they end up not speaking for about a day. 

"Sorry," Dawn says finally, almost a full twenty-four hours since the last time she said anything. 

Spike just looks at her. 

"I know. You have to eat something, and it's not your fault that those people left their dog chained up and he was mostly dead already." Dawn shudders artistically, and Spike's pretty sure she's not faking it. 

"Wasn't the dog's fault either," Spike says, trying to be fair. "But I wouldn't have been doing it any favors by letting it go." 

Dawn nods. "I guess pretty soon most of the dogs and cats will be dead anyway, huh?" 

"Suppose so." 

"What happens then?" 

Spike shrugs, taking the power away from the question. "We'll worry about it when the time comes." 

They spend two days in a diner -- it might be somewhere in Nevada, or maybe Utah, he's not paying much attention to the signs. Dawn makes pancakes on a big gas griddle, burning half of them and putting all kinds of stupid things into the batter -- applesauce and candy bars and instant coffee powder. But she actually seems a bit happy, a bit more relaxed, and that makes it worth the added worry of staying in the same place more than one night. 

Of course there are run-ins with vamps, and demons, and even a handful of humans. It all becomes routine, what he has to deal with to keep her alive. 

Very early one morning, when Dawn is already asleep but before the sun has risen, Spike hears a noise outside on the front porch of the house they're in. He goes to investigate and finds a man standing there, nervous and apologetic before Spike can even say anything. 

"I saw you drive up," the man says. "You and the girl." 

Spike's got the front door opened a few inches. He doesn't think the bloke's got anything planned, but better safe than sorry. "What do you want?" 

"My car ran out of gas." The man's wringing his hands together, his face drawn in sorrow. "And my wife, she won't wake up." 

That doesn't sound good, but the poor guy's such a wreck that Spike feels like he ought to do something. Kicking himself for being soft enough to care, he follows him out onto the street and looks into the car that seemed empty when they drove up, where a woman's body's already starting to decompose. Anyone with a grain of sense left would be able to tell she's been dead for days, probably about three and a half or four. The smell of her decaying flesh is sickening, even to Spike. 

"She's dead," Spike says, not seeing the point of trying to break the news gently when he doesn't think the bloke's gonna hear him anyway. 

"No, no, she's just sleeping, She's always been a heavy sleeper, my Caroline. I just have to get her to wake up." 

"Uh-huh," Spike says, turning back toward the house. "Well, good luck with that then." 

A little voice in the back of his head nags at him. _Why not go on back and kill him?_ it says. _He's a miserable excuse for a life at this point -- his wife's dead, he's completely bonkers, no one would miss him, all that good blood of his is just going to get wasted..._

Instead of arguing with it, Spike goes back into the house and puts a chair next to the bed. Sits on it. Watches Dawn sleep. 

This, he tells himself, is why. 

* * *

That's the night Dawn gets sick for the first time. 

Spike had thought she'd been off-color for days, but not enough that he'd said anything. She's already touchy about him being over-protective, which is a laugh since she's stuck to him like glue most of the time. But he figures that's women for you. Anyway, when he sees her stir and suddenly go kind of white next to him, and she says, "Stop the car," in a strangled sort of voice, he obeys quickly. 

She's out of the car as soon as it stops, bending over at the waist in the weeds at the side of the road. Spike moves to join her, aware that somebody, or something, could be hiding out, waiting for the next victim to wander along. 

Dawn doesn't actually throw up -- she's stubborn, fights it. She takes three steps back and leans against the car like she's exhausted. "Gross," she says. 

"Think it was something you ate?" Spike asks, moving closer. 

"Like what?" 

"Could be your all-chocolate diet's not agreeing with you." 

"Maybe it was that bread. I thought it tasted kind of funny... oh -- " Dawn turns and heaves again, but still nothing comes up. 

Not knowing what else to do, Spike takes her arm and guides her around the open car door, sits down himself with his feet on the ground and pulls her into his lap. She only resists for a second, then sighs and relaxes against him, laying her head on his shoulder. "You been getting enough sleep?" Spike asks, even though he knows she has. "You haven't been drinking the tap water, have you?" 

"No," Dawn says, and he can hear the eye-roll in her voice clear as anything. "Haven't we had this conversation, like, a million times already?" 

"Million and one." Spike vampfully resists going into the reasons why it's not a good idea -- they don't know where the water's coming from, some of it's been sitting in the pipes for weeks, it could be contaminated. 

As far as Spike knows, the doctor he thinks he shot back in Sunnydale was the last one on earth. 

"Maybe it's just, you know, stress?" Dawn suggests, slipping her arm around his waist. 

"Maybe." 

But the next night it happens again, and after she's feeling a bit better Dawn asks if they can stop somewhere and get something that'll help settle her stomach. 

The big drug store's on the outskirts of town, and it seems like it somehow managed to miss being a target for looters. 

"What, no one here needs salt scrub?" Dawn asks, holding up a small jar. 

Spike's still checking the place out, more interested in making sure no one's there than in whatever the hell she's going on about. "There, antacids are in aisle four," he tells her, pointing. "Come on, this isn't a field trip." 

"Even the teachers in school were more fun than you," Dawn says sulkily, putting the jar she's still holding into the red wire basket in her other hand. "Hey, lip gloss." 

"What would you need that for?" 

Dawn gives him a look and walks past him and into aisle four. "There are still people alive, right? I mean, non-undead people." 

"Yeah." 

"So I was thinking... maybe one of them's Josh Hartnett." 

Spike fails to see the logic here. "And...?" 

"And what if we find him? I wouldn't want my lips to be all dry and gross." Dawn seems to think she's being perfectly reasonable, so Spike just shakes his head and watches as she goes up the aisle. 

She stops and sets the basket down on the floor, taking a flashlight out of her jacket pocket and turning it on. The thin beam stutters in the dim for a second, and she smacks the butt of the flashlight with the heel of her hand hard to get it to behave properly. "We need more batteries," she says. "Think you can find some?" 

The store's quiet as death. Spike makes it quick, scouting out the aisle with flashlights and batteries and filling his pockets with some of each. When he gets back to Dawn, she's added some bottles and jars to her basket. 

"I have to pee," she says flatly. 

"Should have gone before we left the house," Spike says. He's trying to be funny, but she just gives him another one of those looks, perfected by teenaged girls every about five seconds after they hit puberty. He sighs. "Come on, the little girl's room's probably back this way." 

* * *

Spike gives her some new batteries and watches as she fumbles them into her flashlight. At least he's figured out when to keep his mouth shut about some things -- Dawn hates it when he offers to do stuff for her that she can totally do by herself. 

She knows he's going to wait outside the door, so she goes inside and into one of the stalls, fast, locking the door and propping her flashlight on the back of the toilet tank. Her hands are shaking as she takes the cardboard package from her inside jacket pocket where she'd hidden it, and she tears the thin paper in her haste to get the thing open. 

The little stick is wrapped in plastic, and she sets that next to the flashlight while she undoes her jeans and pulls them down. She sits on the toilet and then unwraps the stick and, holding it in one hand and the flashlight in the other, tries to pee where she's supposed to. And of course it splashes onto her hand, which is seriously gross. 

When she's done, Dawn gets herself back together and carries the stick and the flashlight back out into the main part of the bathroom, setting them down on the sink, and washes her hands three times in the stream of cold water that trickles out of the tap. She dries her hands three times on stiff brown paper towels, then puts the wadded up paper carefully into the trash bin. 

Her heart is beating too fast, so she tries taking deep breaths and thinking about nothing, which is a lot harder than it sounds. 

Three minutes isn't a long time to wait, not really, but it feels like forever. 

* * *

Spike leans against the wall and smokes while he waits for Dawn. After a couple of minutes, he calls, "You okay in there?" 

" _Yes_ ," Dawn answers immediately. "Jeez, can't a person pee in privacy?" 

He rolls his eyes to the ceiling and waits some more. 

Dawn's voice, when it comes again through the wooden door, is quavering. "Spike? C-can you come in here?" 

Spike doesn't hesitate -- he shoves the door open with his shoulder almost before she's finished speaking. She's standing at the sink, with her back to him, and when he moves to her side she startles like she hadn't realized how close he was. She's holding something in her hands. 

Spike takes it when she offers, looking down as his fingers close around it. It's some plastic stick sort of thing. "What's this?" 

"It's a pregnancy test," Dawn says, crossing her arms in front of her chest. 

"Uh-huh." Spike looks at it more closely, realizing why she's showing it to him at the same time the pieces fall into place. Her being sick, how she's been sleeping so much. And now that he thinks about it, the fact that she hasn't had her monthlies in the weeks since the Hellmouth opened. He glances up at her, not knowing what to say. 

"Well?" 

"Well what?" 

"Well, what are we going to do?" Dawn looks irritated and more than a little bit scared. 

Spike looks at the stick again, then sets it down on the edge of the sink. "What do you want to do?" he asks, stalling for time, hoping he'll be able to come up with something convincing. He's still absorbing the news. 

"I think we should turn back time," Dawn says, shifting her weight to her back foot, which makes her hips roll. She's still tiny, slender. You wouldn't know by looking at her. "You can do that, right?" 

"Wish I could, Bit." Spike sighs and reaches out to take her arm, and she lets him even though she's tense. 

Dawn takes a half step closer to him. "People shouldn't have to live like this," she says. 

"But you are," Spike tells her. "And you're gonna keep on, you hear me? No matter what happens." 

Resigned, she moves in and rests her face against his chest. She's warm and his arms go around her automatic-like, without any thought at all. "I want Mom," Dawn says, her voice wet with tears. She sniffles, then laughs. "Except she'd kill me if she knew." 

"No she wouldn't. She'd understand." Spike pulls back, holding Dawn's face in his hands so that she knows he's serious. "This isn't your fault, you know that." 

There are tear stains on her cheeks, but she grins a bit sadly. "Yeah, I know. I'm not stupid." 

He wipes away her tears and tucks her hair back. "So, it's early days yet. Might be we can find a solution to this, if that's something you want to do." Truth be told, he's terrified at the thought of somebody they don't know going inside her and scraping her out, no anaesthetic and probably no sterile conditions, but considering what she's already been through... 

"You mean an abortion." Dawn's not one for beating around the bush. 

"If that's what you want, yeah." 

"I don't know what I want." She pulls away, turns and picks up the torch from the sink, leaving the pregnancy test where Spike set it. "Other than to get out of here, I mean. Can we?" 

* * *

He knows she's cried a couple of times, in the shower, or when she says she's going to brush her teeth. Bathroom door's the only one that's closed between them, for the most part, and Dawn seems to take advantage of that by using her few moments in private to shed the tears that she won't in front of him. 

Still, he figures it'll come sooner or later. It's not natural to hold in that much grief, not when you've lost so much. 

Knows that from personal experience. He lost Buffy, after all. 

Dawn gets it into her head that they need books. "Not because I want to, you know, keep it," she explains. It hasn't slipped Spike's notice that she refers to it like that -- _it, the pregnancy_ \-- when she has to refer to it at all. "But I should know what's going to happen. What's normal." 

Spike manages not to point out that almost nothing about this is normal. "So what, then? A library?" 

"No," Dawn says, like she's been giving it some thought. "A bookstore. Because what if somebody needs one of those books, and they go all the way to the library and I stole it?" 

He doesn't figure there are a hell of a lot of women left to get pregnant, let alone ones in whatever town they might stop in who'll think to go to the library for books about the condition, but again he manages to keep his mouth shut. 

"Just remember, there's only so much room in the back seat," Spike warns her as he finishes breaking into the big fancy shop. There's already a collection of stuff in the back of the car, and the trunk's been full for weeks. 'Course he's nearly as responsible for that fact as she is -- either of them takes a fancy to something, they throw it into the car. It hasn't really occurred to them to get rid of any of it yet. 

The place is sprawling, with sections for just about every kind of book imaginable. (Not much in the way of porn though.) There are calendars -- Spike wonders if they're the last years' worth of official ones that'll ever be made -- and greeting cards, leather bound journals and magazines, romance novels and dictionaries. There's no electricity, but it's just past sundown and they've acquired quite a collection of torches. 

"Stay with me," Spike orders, but Dawn waves a hand at him and flounces toward the back section of the shop, where a large sign reads 'Women's Health,' and he has to follow her. He grabs a book of maps along the way -- might come in useful -- and slides down with his back against the end of one bookcase where he can check it out and keep an eye on Dawn at the same time. 

After a while she settles on a couple of books, but by then Spike's been bored for fifteen minutes and has started looking through them himself. All kinds of creepy photos of unborn kids swimming around in their mother's wombs, diagrams of how big the fetuses are at various stages... he shudders and puts the book back, randomly picking up another one about herbs and childbearing. 

There's a chapter in it about herbal abortions, so he slips the book into his pocket when Dawn isn't looking. 

"Any time now," he says impatiently, gesturing at the small pile she's set on the floor. "Enough already." 

Dawn gives him a look of sheer annoyance. "Uh-huh. Who put the crabby pills in _your_ blood?" 

That's when Spike realizes he's hungry. He's been going longer between meals -- Dawn got over her no-pets rule, but they're still harder and harder to find, and the bigger animals are more work. He doesn't like to leave her unattended long enough to do any real hunting. Looking back, it's been almost two days since he fed, and thinking about it makes him more aware of how deep and gnawing the hunger actually is. 

Something on his face must give him away, because Dawn looks worried. "Do you need blood?" 

Spike's pretty sure she thinks about it -- what will happen if, when, they can't find any. He's determined he'll become a walking skeleton before he'd feed from her, even if she offered, but it's not really the kind of thing you say to someone. 

Well, to her. 

"I'm all right for now," he says gruffly. "But I wouldn't mind getting out of here." 

"Okay, I'm good," Dawn says. She scoops up the books she's chosen and reaches for Spike's hand likes it's the most natural thing in the world, interlacing her warm fingers with his. 

On the way out Spike snags a big box of gourmet chocolates in a shiny gold box from a display, thinking there's bound to be a time Dawn will want them, and they step outside onto the pavement, where the car's parked crooked across a couple of spaces. 

And where it's surrounded by a small crowd of vampires, all armed and wearing assorted expressions of mayhem. 

* * *

"Uh-oh," Dawn says, glancing from the car to Spike, then back again. 

His mind's racing furiously, trying to think. It's Dawn they really want -- though they'll settle for him if it's blood they're after -- so his first instinct, to tell her to run, is no good. A couple of them will just keep him busy while the rest go for her. There's a stake in one of his pockets at least. 

"Send the girl over and we'll let you go," one of them calls. 

Spike feels Dawn's hand tighten its grip on his. "Never gonna happen, mate," he yells back. 

The vampire exchange a few words, low, that he can barely make out. 

"Stay with me," Spike tells Dawn, and he knows she'll obey this time. "If they surround us, keep your back to me, make sure you know where they are. Understand?" 

Dawn nods, and he hears the books she was holding hit the ground with a muffled collection of thumps at the same time he drops the box of chocolates. 

Almost before he can blink they're on them, Spike's body moving to parry blows in a dance that doesn't take any thought at all on his part. He figures he's got Angelus to thank for the way instinct takes over at times like this \-- a block becomes an elbow to the neighboring vamp's face, the smell of blood more adrenaline than aphrodisiac, although deep down he knows that will come too, if he makes it out of this one. 

He can hear Dawn's quick, indrawn breaths as she does her best to stick close to him. One of the vamps gets a hand on her wrist, and Spike turns and stakes him in one smooth move, the dust raining down over both of them. Dawn coughs and squeaks, "Spike!" as another vamp grabs her by the shoulders. Spike kicks the vamp hard, boot to the back of the knee, and the bloke makes a high-pitched sound and staggers, Dawn shoving him away far enough so that Spike can get a stake into his heart too. 

That's when one of the others hits Spike over the head with something like an explosion, and the world blackens briefly, a slide show paused. He's on his knees somehow, and has just enough sense to say, "Dawn -- _run_." 

* * *

She runs. 

There isn't any hesitating about it, even though something in her chest, or maybe her brain, knows that it's wrong. 

It's what Spike told her to do, so Dawn does it. 

She can feel her heart pounding in her chest, and the pavement is hard under her ratty sneakers, and she's not sure where to go. She dodges around the side of the building and runs its length, then back behind it, looking around wildly for where to go. She doesn't think she can run far or fast enough to get away from hungry vampires \-- and she's not sure how many of them were left, maybe three, maybe four -- so there has to be somewhere to hide. 

There are three big trash bins behind the building -- the first two are mostly paper and boxes, but the last one is lots of bags full of what's probably trash from the coffee shop part of the store, paper bags and napkins and she's wasting too much time deciding, so she climbs up and in, struggling on the edge for just a few seconds before she's inside. 

With the sound of her breathing harsh in her own ears, crouched on torn garbage bags, Dawn waits to see who comes for her. 

* * *

Fear for Dawn's what forces him to his feet, though game face slips on without any effort at all. 

"No one ever taught you to play nice?" he asks the vamp with the heavy piece of two by four that's probably what whacked him over the head. 

And it doesn't matter that he's hurt, or that he's been underfed lately, because he's stronger than all of them put together, where it counts. The first two are dust in seconds, the third half a minute later, and then it's just him and number six. 

"Seems like you lost your friends," Spike says, trying with all his might to focus on the bloke in front of him instead of where Dawn got off to and if she's okay. He wipes his split knuckles across his mouth, and the taste of blood fills his senses. 

Makes him hungrier. 

The other vamp circles, slow, like he's got all night. Spike sure as hell doesn't. He rushes his opponent, and instead of staking him, snaps his neck. His fangs are sunk into cool flesh before the bloke's body even twitches in recognition of what's happened, and he feeds, the amount of blood insufficient but better than nothing. He drops the body to the pavement and leaves it there, stumbles a step in the direction Dawn must have gone. 

"Dawn!" 

Spike stands very still, listening for her reply, but there's none. It comes over him like a flash that he might not find her -- might never see her again or know what happened to her -- and he starts to run, his chest tight with anxiety. 

At the back of the building he pauses. "Dawn!" Listens again, hears a faint scraping sound. "Dawn, it's me!" 

He hears her voice before he sees her. "Spike?" She's hiding in the bloody rubbish bin, and Spike's relief is so acute that his knees wobble. 

"You okay?" He goes over and helps her climb out, and she's trembling and her hands are clutching at his coat. Spike gets his own hands on her face and tilts it upward so she's looking at him. "You hurt?" 

"No," Dawn says. "But... w-what about you? Are you okay?" 

Spike's head is throbbing, but he doesn't think his skull's busted. "I'm fine." Then, as he realizes, "What the hell is that ungodly stench?" 

"Stinky rotting garbage?" Dawn suggests brightly, although Spike can tell that the cheerfulness is forced. 

" _God_ , it's like..." But there aren't even words for how disgusting the odor is -- mold and slime and stuff that used to be food. Thinking that a few weeks' time can turn it into something that smells like this is enough to turn him off of eating stuff altogether, Spike thinks. 

"Trust me, I know," Dawn says. "I was the one sitting in it, remember?" She looks down at herself like she wants to brush off the bits clinging to her clothes, but hesitates. Spike wouldn't want to touch it either. "I guess they don't have a shower in there, huh?" She glances at the bookshop. 

"Not bloody likely." Spike's backed up away from her a bit, looks around. There are some houses a quarter of a mile away -- one of them will do. 

Half an hour later, he's waiting outside the bathroom door in a house where the electricity's long dead, holding an armful of clothes. 

"Remind me again why we couldn't wait to go somewhere that had hot water?" Dawn asks from the other side of the door. He can hear her teeth chattering as she splashes water over herself. 

"Because there might not be anywhere, and no way am I driving you around in the car like this." 

More splashing water, and he can practically hear Dawn dancing around from one foot to the other as she squeals and shivers. In another minute she's pushing the door open and grabbing the clothes out of his hand, a towel wrapped hastily around her for modesty. She doesn't quite pull it closed again, and Spike gets a glimpse of long coltish thigh and the slightest swell of abdomen before making himself look away. 

Dawn reappears, dressed and with damp hair, still shivering. "Do I pass the smell test?" she asks, holding her arms out at her sides. 

Spike leans in a bit and gives a good sniff, but all he can smell is a faintly jasmine-scented soap and the metallic tang of icy water. The way she's trembling makes him want to wrap his arms around her, touch her 'til she warms up. But he won't. Better not to. 

"Yeah, you pass," he says, ducking his head, keeping his eyes on the floor. 

* * *

Dawn's sitting next to him in the front seat. She doesn't wear her seatbelt anymore, and Spike's given up on trying to make her. His only real threat, that he won't drive unless she's wearing it, doesn't work when it's not safe to stay in one place, and she's pointed out that she could drive off on her own in another car if she wanted to. 

'Course, this argument won't hold water for much longer, because most of the cars will be low on batteries after having sat for six or more weeks. She's a quick study though -- he's showed her how to find car keys fast, if there's a car parked at a house, and where they might be hidden inside the car, not to mention how to hotwire one. It's simple for her now, almost second nature. It took about six hours of practice, one afternoon when neither of them could sleep and there was a garage attached to the house they were waiting out the sunlight in, but she's got it down. 

"How about Tallahassee?" she asks. "It's kind of a funny name, don't you think?" 

"Don't you want somewhere, I don't know... nicer?" Spike says. He's humoring her, letting her think that some time soon they'll settle down, once they've found the right place. In reality he doesn't expect that to happen for months, if ever, but it seems to make her happy, trying to choose a place to stay. 

"Or -- ooh, I know! New Orleans!" Dawn lets the map she's been studying fall into her lap, bouncing in excitement. 

"Over my undead body," Spike tells her, remembering to watch the road. It's getting harder to concentrate, what with being hungry just about all the time, although they've managed to find him a couple of animals and a small stash of human blood at an emergency clinic. "New Orleans is one big clich. That Rice woman destroyed the place for any respectable vamp." 

Dawn's quirk of a smile just about lights up the car. "So you're respectable now?" 

He has to backpeddle a bit. "Not me, no. Just trust me when I say it's not a place we want to go." Truth is, Interview or not, he has no doubt New Orleans is crawling with vamps. 

"Okay, fine." She sighs and shifts in her seat again, trying to get comfortable. 

"Could get you some new jeans," Spike suggests, hesitant 'cause he's not sure how she's going to take it. 

He hasn't failed to notice that she's still getting ones in the same size she started out, even though that size is more than a bit too small now that she's starting to thicken about the waist. The subtle change in her shape wouldn't be noticeable if you didn't know to look for it -- it's just the slightest roundness of her lower abdomen. Her breasts are the tiniest bit bigger too, but again, if you weren't paying attention, you wouldn't see it. 

Spike tells himself, firmly, that he's not paying attention. 

"That'd be cool," Dawn says, inspecting her fingernails with what seems to be forced casualness. 

So there's another stop at a big department store -- seems like all they do these days is drive, sleep and shop \-- ending with another stack of clothes in the back seat, and a pair of chocolate brown denim overalls over Dawn's long sleeved striped shirt. The outfit makes her look even younger than she is, but it hides the changes in her body at the same time, so Spike doesn't figure he should complain. 

The pregnancy books, rescued after their fight with the vampires and read carefully over the next day or two, have spent the past week and a half on the floor of the car, getting stepped on and bent. Spike's past the point of admonishing Dawn to take care of her things -- getting attached to objects, even books, seems a ridiculous suggestion at this point. They can always get more. 

"I want ice cream," she says suddenly, sliding down in her seat and propping her knees up on the dashboard. It's about thirty minutes until they'll start looking for somewhere to spend the day. "Do you think there'll ever be ice cream again?" 

"Sure there will. We had ice cream back before there was electricity, you know." Spike considers this. "Helps to live somewhere that's cold enough to get snow though." 

Dawn wrinkles her nose. "Hm. I don't know if I want ice cream that much." 

"So you want to settle somewhere warm?" It's wrong to encourage her, Spike thinks. But on the other hand, he doesn't like the idea of her getting all despairing, thinking there's no point in going on. 

"I think." Dawn glances at him. "But maybe somewhere less sunny would be better? For you, I mean." 

He shakes his head. "Don't worry about me. Been in California a long time, haven't I?" 

There are things he doesn't tell her, and things he doesn't mention in the hopes that maybe she won't notice. Like the fact that they've been traveling in a big oval for a while -- gone halfway across the country, then looped north and started back again. Pretty soon they're going to cross over their easterly path; eventually they'll have made one of those infinity symbols, and if that's not a laugh -- in a laugh-or-you'll-cry sort of way -- Spike doesn't know what is. 

Anyway, Dawn has to have noticed that they're headed back the way they came, what with her looking at the map off and on, but she hasn't said anything. 

So they don't talk about it, which is just fine with Spike. 

* * *

It only takes them two tries to find a house to spend the day in, which is way better than average. Spike's all fussy about it and wants to make sure the one they stay in isn't flimsy or easy to break into. Well, plus after all this time there's the whole dead-bodies-rotting thing to think about, and at this point they're usually rotting right into the carpet or whatever, and the stink is seriously gross. Way worse than when she hid in the trash bin. 

Sometimes they find actual people who are still alive, but they never really try to talk to them. Dawn's not sure why. She thinks it might be because Spike worries he'll be tempted -- like, to eat them -- or because he knows what will happen when they find out what he is. She's not too excited to find out, so she keeps her mouth shut about it. Like a lot of other things. 

The house is really quiet. It's been hard to get used to that -- no electricity means no refrigerators running, no computers making that faint humming sound, no radios, no phones. It actually makes it harder to sleep than you'd think, but she's starting to get used to it. Plus she's so tired all the time that falling asleep isn't usually a problem. 

When Dawn wakes up, her hand's between her legs again, inside her panties. Sometimes she dreams stuff that's kind of, well, sexy. Spike's still asleep, and she's pretty much figured out at this point how to tell if he's going to wake up soon, so she leaves her fingers where they are, sliding lightly over moist skin that feels swollen and hot. 

She wonders if any of the guys who raped her are still alive. She wonders if whichever one of them's the father \-- the cause of the pregnancy that's making her lower belly swell out just a little bit -- was a good person, before. Dawn isn't stupid -- she knows that bad things can make even good people act crazy, can make them do things they shouldn't do. 

She wonders if this is one of them, her still wanting to touch herself even after they hurt her. 

Her fingers press and rub, and Dawn closes her eyes, breathes in quietly through her nose. She lets her other hand wander up under her t-shirt, cups one breast thoughtfully, feeling how it's different. It's only a little bit rounder, fuller, but it's much more sensitive than it was before. Sometimes her breasts ache like they used to right before she got her period, and her nipples are hard almost all the time, sticking out all perky. 

Dawn's breathing is getting faster now, but she's still almost silent. Knowing that if she isn't Spike might wake up gives her a little thrill that zings through her like sparks, and she bites down on her lower lip as she comes, her muscles down there tightening and relaxing in waves of pleasure that leave her feeling heavy and drowsy. 

But she doesn't go back to sleep, and after a little while she eases her hands back out cautiously and turns onto her side to look at Spike. He's lying on his back with one arm thrown up onto the pillow, and the fading sunlight just makes it clearer how much weight he's lost. He's starting to look kind of gaunt, and there are dark circles under his eyes. 

Sighing, Dawn gets up, pulls on her clothes, and wanders around the house. She almost always does this -- just pokes around, looking in closets and stuff, seeing if anything catches her eye. She has a whole armful of bracelets in the car's glove compartment, a few that are tennis bracelets with what she's pretty sure are real diamonds in them. 

She doesn't find anything interesting, so she goes into the kitchen and pokes around in the cabinets, warily. You never know what you're going to find, and sometimes it's totally stomach-turning. At least the morning sickness, or night sickness, or whatever you want to call it, seems to be going away. She still has waves of it, sometimes, and Spike's getting good at pulling over to the side of the road really fast when she tells him to. 

Boring crackers and cereal, in open boxes, so she knows they're stale. Canned yuck, namely soup and vegetables and beans. 

There's a sudden scratching sound that makes Dawn jump. She takes a deep breath, then hears it again. When she investigates, it's a cat on the other side of the screen door, asking to be let in. 

It doesn't make any sense -- how long has the poor kitty been standing out there, waiting for someone to open the door? And how does it know someone's in the house now? 

She looks around carefully before opening the door, because she knows Spike would freak if she didn't, then cracks it just enough so she can get the screen one open too. The cat -- thin, orange and beige and cocoa and peach -- pushes her way in eagerly, miaowing and twining itself around Dawn's legs until she almost trips. It's purring so loud she thinks it might wake up Spike, but it goes over to the cupboard next to the refrigerator and rubs its face against the handle, watching her anxiously. 

Dawn can take a hint. She opens the cupboard, and the cat flings itself inside, getting its head into the open bag of dry cat food that's under there, tipping it over. The food spills across the floor like little marbles, and Dawn is careful not to step on them and fall like some loser in a movie. Instead she sits down, leaning against the cabinets, and pets the cat as it devours the food like it's been starving, which is has, considering the way she can feel every bone under its thin fur. 

She eventually gets up and gives it some water too, because she thinks all that dry food must be sticking in its throat. When she sits back down again, the cat crawls onto her lap, pushing its forehead against her chest, which makes her wince. 

"Be a good kitty," she tells it, offering her hand for it to rub against instead of her sore breasts. It just purrs louder, sticking its butt up into the air and then flopping down onto its side. It's like a sad skinny purring machine. 

Dawn pets it some more. "What's your name, kitty?" She considers the colors of its fur, ruffles under its chin with one finger. "You look like a Marmalade to me." 

"See you found someone," Spike says, his voice startling her, and she glances up to see him standing in the doorway to the kitchen. "We need to hit the road, Bit. Sun's been down almost twenty minutes." 

She realizes she's lost track of time, then realizes that he called her 'Bit,' something he hasn't done in weeks and weeks. "Okay. But what about...?" She gestures at the cat, who immediately stands up and rubs itself on her gesturing hand endearingly. 

It isn't until she looks up and sees the expression on Spike's face and the glint in his eyes that she gets it. 

Dawn gets up slowly. "I'll wait in the car," she says, hearing how flat her voice is. 

"Right behind you." 

She knows he will be, just like she knows better than to look back. 

* * *

Dawn sits up straighter suddenly. "Did you see that?" she asks, turning to look behind them. 

Spike hadn't. "What?" 

"There's a hospital at the next exit, and I think I saw some lights. Like, electricity! What if they have a blood bank?" 

He tries not to let hope get the better of him. "Even if they've still got power, chances are some other vamps have been in and cleaned out their stash weeks ago." 

"Then if they have, at least they won't be paying attention to us if we go in there to look," Dawn points out. "Come on. It's not like it's gonna take hours. We'll just go in, check it out, then get right back on the road. Okay?" 

"Okay," Spike says, although it's never that easy and he doesn't expect this time to be an exception to the rule. 

Hospital's empty, but Dawn was right about having seen lights -- a whole chunk of the town's still got power, for whatever reason. With the place silent, the lit halls and shiny tile floors seem sterile, almost lonely. Spike immediately berates himself for the melodramatic nature of these thoughts, forcing himself to focus on the concrete. 

Dawn's shoes -- flat basketball trainer things that seem more like something a boy would wear -- make little soft sounds on the floor as she walks, sticking close beside him for once. 

"This way," Spike says, after a moment's pause in which he contemplates where the blood might be kept. 

"Um... Spike?" Dawn says, but he ignores her and continues down the hallway. 

" _Spike_ ," she says again, so this time he turns. She's standing in front of a sign on the wall, and pointing in the other direction. "It's down there." 

"Right," Spike says, starting toward her. "I knew that." 

The way she rolls her eyes as he stalks past her, the way she says "Uh-huh," remind him of back before Buffy died, and his heart clenches in his chest. Doesn't matter that he's just a dead thing, a monster, if he can love. Does it? There are times when he's not sure, and this is one of them. 

Blood bank's locked up tight, but the pin that's more than enough to stop a human isn't nearly strong enough to keep out a vampire. He wrenches the door open and steps into the refrigerated cooler, sees the bags of blood in neat stacks. His mouth fills with saliva, and his gut clenches. 

"There's some more out here," Dawn calls, and she appears in the doorway with a bag of blood in each hand. "There's a little fridge too." 

Spike wrenches control down tightly, but vamp face rushes out anyway as he takes the bags from her and tears into one, the flood of it into his mouth rich and meaty. He turns away from Dawn -- not that he thinks she can't handle it, but she shouldn't have to watch if she doesn't want to -- and drains both bags in less than a minute. 

When he goes to look for more, Dawn's standing in front of the little fridge with two more in her hands. She holds them out. "There's a lot more," she says, softly, reassuring. "It's okay." 

He takes them from her and she moves away, leaving him access to the small refrigerator. He drinks deep, bag after bag even though they're not warm, letting the taste of the blood wash everything else away until he's sated. By then, his palms are cold with the chill of the ones he ate. When he wipes them on his duster he can feel the outline of the small book that's been in the inside pocket since they went to the bookstore. 

The room's empty. "Dawn?" Spike says, then again, right away. "Dawn!" 

"I'm in here," she says, answering quick like she knows he's worried. "I'm okay." 

She's gone through an adjoining doorway into another room, a kind of clinic or something maybe. Lots of chairs, some magazines, wall full of flyers about asthma and Wellbutrin and overactive bladder disorder. There's a counter at the far wall, place for patients to check in probably. Dawn's leaning against it, looking at a flyer that she refolds and sets back down when he comes in. 

"All done?" she asks. 

"Yeah." Self-conscious, Spike rubs the back of his hand over his mouth, changes back into human face with a bit more effort than it usually takes. "Plenty more though. We'll have to find a cooler or something so we can take it with us." 

"Uh-huh." Her long hair's shiny, hanging down and hiding half her face. "Spike, do you think...?" 

He waits, but she doesn't finish. "Think what?" 

"Never mind." Dawn makes an odd face, her mouth pulling into something not quite a frown. "So, do you think we should, you know, look around?" She gestures over her shoulder at the area behind the counter. "Might as well see if there's anything useful." 

Plenty of useful stuff, if you knew what the hell any of it is. Spike breaks open the locked medicine chests and rifles through one while Dawn looks through the other. "Valium," Spike says, pocketing a bottle. 

"Isn't that, like, to calm down people who are freaking out?" 

"Basically." Spike moves a bunch of other bottles around, letting the uninteresting ones fall onto the floor. 

"This is kind of fun," Dawn says, grinning. "It's kind of like stealing." 

"It _is_ stealing," Spike tells her, even though technically it's not. Might as well let her think so, if it cheers her up. He finds another bottle with a label he recognizes. "Demerol -- that's good stuff." 

Dawn's quiet, and when he looks up she's got a little packet of things in her hand -- two bottles of pills and a pile of flyers bundled together with an elastic band. 

"What's that then?" he asks. 

"Are you four eighty-six," Dawn says. 

"Am I what?" Spike cocks his head to the side. She pulls one of the flyers free and hands it to him. "Oh, RU-486. Which is what again?" 

"It's an abortion pill," she says, moving over to a chair and sinking down onto the edge of it as she takes out a flyer herself and starts to read. 

Spike's wondered what she was thinking about the whole thing, but he hasn't wanted to ask. Well, of course he's _wanted_ to ask, but he's kept his mouth shut. 

"Pills," she says after a minute. "You take one and then wait and take the other one." 

"Says 'Under a doctor's care,'" Spike points out, reading along. "We seem to be sorely lacking in one of those." 

"Well yeah, but we wouldn't have one if I had it either." It takes Spike a moment to puzzle out that 'it' is the baby and not the abortion. 

He's not convinced that this option's much safer than taking the book in his pocket's advice about herbs, but then neither one's likely to be a walk in the park. "Whatever you want to do, Bit," he says finally. "It's your decision." 

Dawn's hand's on her mostly-flat belly. "Let's take it with us," she says, handing the bottles and things to him. 

After some more walking around they find the cafeteria, and go on into the back to investigate the kitchen. The walk-in fridge is still running, still cold, but most of the stuff in it's no good. Salads and things gone black with slime or green with mold, milk and cream past the point of being okay to drink. But there are some sealed yogurts that Dawn says are good, and the way she spoons one of them into her mouth seems to prove it. She grabs a plastic bag and fills it with the yogurt, some oranges and a few apples, then declares the rest of the food a loss. 

"You think there are other places that still have power?" Dawn asks, voice muffled around the edges of the plastic spoon. 

"Must be," Spike says. "Here and there." 

"Well I think we should stay here today. Because... hot water! Oh, but we need to go back and get your blood." Her expression and posture, which have been rather wired since the discovery of the yogurt, softens. "You feel better, right?" 

He nods, and they go back to the blood bank. Find a crap styrofoam cooler in a corner under a table and fill it with the frozen blood -- Spike figures it should be good for a couple of days at least, all packed in like that. Maybe longer, if he's lucky. Either way, there's a renewed bounce in his step, fresh hope coursing through his veins. 

Feels like he could take on the world. 

* * *

Six houses this time. 

The first two aren't safe enough -- Spike says there are too many windows or something. At this point Dawn doesn't try to argue with him anymore. It doesn't do any good. She just says okay and follows him to the next house. 

Three and four are seriously stinky with dead bodies. It doesn't help if Spike puts the bodies in trash bags and shuts them in a closet. The stink just kind of... stays. One time it had been so bad that they'd had to spend most of a day in the garage that was attached to the super-stinky house, and Spike had taught her how to hotwire a car. That had been cool, even if they'd both been all cranky that night because they were so tired. 

House number five seems okay until they find out that someone broke into it a while back -- the side door that leads to the kitchen is all smashed in, and Spike doesn't think he can fix it. 

So, six. It's a relief to get in there, to follow the routine where she locks the door and then watches out the closest window as Spike moves the car from where they left it to right in front of the house. She isn't supposed to unlock it until he knocks, even though one morning she had to because they cut it a little too close and the sun almost got him. 

Spike comes back in and locks the door behind himself, making sure it's secure. That's Dawn's cue to do some exploring -- not much, because by this time of the morning she's always tired and what she really wants to do is lie down and sleep. But she always checks the house out a little bit. She likes to know what's there. 

This one looks like it was home to a family, because one of the bedrooms looks kind of like hers did, and another one has race cars on the curtains and shelves full of kid toys like padded baseball bats and chunky plastic airplanes and little Playmobil people. 

Dawn stands there for a long time, looking at the toys and the bright colors, until she starts to feel kind of funny. Something in her chest hurts. She goes and finds Spike in the kitchen, sitting up on the counter with a bottle of alcohol in his hand. "Can I have that stuff?" 

He blinks at her. "What stuff?" 

"The pills and stuff." 

Spike hesitates, looking like he wants to say something, but then he doesn't. He takes the two bottles and the flyers, which are all crumpled up now, out of his pocket and gives them to her. 

She doesn't say anything either. She goes into the bathroom and shuts the door, then sits on the closed toilet seat and reads the flyer three times. She opens both bottles and looks at the pills inside, noting the differences between the two. 

Dawn sets the bottles on the sink and stands looking in the mirror for a long time, but she can't decide what to do. 

She walks to the girl's frilly bedroom, strips off her jeans, gets into the bed, and falls asleep. 

* * *

Spike finds her there ten minutes later. She's sleeping deeply, breathing easy and slow, her jeans in a crumpled up pile on the floor the only thing in the room that's out of place. 

He stands there and watches her for a long time, then goes around to the other side of the bed and gets in beside her, careful as always to leave a few inches between them. Doesn't matter because he can still feel her there, even if they aren't touching, and as always that eventually sends him off to sleep. 

When Spike wakes up, the bed's empty, but he can hear her in the bathroom. She's crying, little muffled sobs like she doesn't want him to know, so he's torn. Go to her and comfort her? Or assume she doesn't want him to, since she's off hiding? 

In the end he does what he wants to, what with that being second nature for him and all. More natural than trying to do what she might want anyway. 

"Bit? You okay?" He knocks on the door, even though it's not quite closed. 

Dawn sniffles, and he can hear her quickly wiping away the tears. "I'm okay." 

"Don't sound it." Spike pushes the door open slowly, pretty sure of his welcome at this point but giving her room to say 'no.' 

She stands up as he comes in. Her face is tearstained, her expression blank. "I did it," she says. 

His eyes go immediately to the bottles of pills on the sink. "Made a decision," he says, and he's asking for clarification. 

"Uh-huh." Dawn's not quite looking at him, more like off to one side. "I don't want to have it. It's not right." 

"That's your call, love." Spike steps closer, bends down a little bit to get more in her field of vision, tilting his head to one side trying to get her attention. "Whatever you want's all right." 

She looks at him then. "I tried to think what Buffy would do, if it were her?" 

Spike nods. He's not sure he can find words. 

"And I thought she'd say that I was strong enough to do anything. But she was wrong." Dawn blinks, and another tear slides down her cheek. "I'm not." 

He takes a step forward and folds her into his arms, holding her gently. "Well I don't think I can agree with you on that one," he says. "But I can't say I think you're making the wrong decision." Truth is, he's relieved. Hard enough to keep her alive without some tiny squalling runt to drag around with them, not to mention the next seven and a half months with her getting bigger and more ungainly the whole time. 

"I already started it," Dawn says, into his shoulder, and he can tell she means taking the pills. "Um... started to finish it." 

Spike moves back, cradles her face in his hands. She's so delicate, and the faint swell of her body fascinates him even as he tries not to see it. "Come on then, there's still a few more hours until sunset. You should get some more sleep if you can." 

* * *

Dawn's hand is down inside her panties again when she wakes up, which would be okay except that some time while they were sleeping she ended up with her back pressed up against Spike's chest and his arm is around her. His arm is actually _over_ hers, and that means she's kind of, well, stuck. She doesn't think she can get her arm out without waking him up, not the way he sleeps most of the time. 

In the past week or so they've been sleeping closer together. They don't start out that way, but by the time she wakes up they're usually kind of wrapped around each other. It feels... nice. 

Experimentally, she shifts position slightly, but all that happens is Spike's arm tightens around her a little bit, which so totally doesn't solve her problem. And it maybe causes a new one, because her butt bumping against Spike's... front... proves to her that even if most of him is asleep, at least one part of him is awake. Really awake, and that feels kind of nice too actually, pressed up against her like that, which is a weird thought. 

Not all that weird maybe, since she's thought about it a little bit. Not a lot -- because that would be _really_ weird -- but a little. It's not like she can't pretty much guess what Spike looks like naked, since she's seen him without his shirt like dozens of times, and his jeans don't leave much to the imagination. She wonders what he looks like though... _down there_... -- his cock \-- and then wonders if she's really sick for even thinking about it, since how she ended up pregnant isn't something she should want to repeat. 

Except that with Spike it would be different. 

Probably. 

Dawn whispers, "Spike?" but he doesn't answer. Cautiously, slowly, she eases her hand out of her panties. Spike doesn't wake up. She turns carefully, shifting onto her back and then her other side under his arm so that she can look at him. 

He looks different asleep than awake, and she likes looking at him like this, when his face is relaxed. And he looks better after all that blood he had last night -- not as pale. 

Spike stirs a little bit, then he moves his hand around to her front and cups her breast, sighing as he leans in to nuzzle her hair. 

She freezes, not knowing what to do, but Spike's thumb goes back and forth over her nipple and Dawn can't help it, she squeaks. Not because she's freaked out, but because it feels so good to have him touch her like that. Except of course Spike hears her, and he opens his eyes. 

Understanding flits behind them like some kind of freaky insect, then Spike pulls his hand back, fast, and sits up. He moves away from her so quick that he almost falls out of the bed, and ends up teetering on the edge for a second, but he's kind of tangled in the blankets. 

Dawn laughs. "Wow. Uncoordinated much?" 

Spike gapes at her, like he has no idea how to react to what just happened. 

"It's okay," she says, even though thinking about it makes her blush and she has to duck her head a little bit so that her hair falls down into her face to help hide it. For a few seconds she feels about fifteen years old again, instead of the thirty that it feels like she is sometimes. "You were asleep. It's no big deal." 

She's totally not used to Spike being speechless. He sits up a little bit straighter and runs a hand through his hair. "I wouldn't do that, not to you." His voice is shaking, like he's really freaked out. 

"I know," Dawn says. She realizes she's half sitting up, propped up on her elbow, and quickly, before she can change her mind, she leans forward and kisses him. It's a fast and awkward press of lips on lips, kind of light and dry... like a friend kiss, if you ever wanted to kiss your friends on the lips, which isn't something Dawn has ever really thought about. "It's okay," she repeats, lying back down and tucking a hand underneath her cheek. "Come on, it's like an hour until sunset. Go back to sleep." 

Spike watches her for a minute. His lips are slightly parted, and the look of surprise on his face hasn't faded, but eventually he lies down again, facing her. Dawn wonders if maybe he's afraid to turn his back on her in case she might do something else kind of crazy that she's never done before, and the thought makes her smile. "Sure you're okay?" Spike asks. 

"I'm fine," Dawn reassures him. "It was just... well, you know. Sleeping in the same bed, stuff like that's bound to happen sooner or later, right?" It didn't mean anything. 

"Right. Sometimes bodies just... do things. Doesn't mean the people want them to." 

"Exactly." Telling herself she's not disappointed, and reminding herself of the way Buffy had thought her crush on Spike was a stupid little-kid thing to have, Dawn pulls the covers up some more. Then she reaches over and adjusts them over Spike's shoulder, because he's all with the cold-blooded and sometimes, even though he doesn't complain unless he's in a really bad mood, he gets chilly. 

They lie there for a while. It's quiet. 

Then Dawn says, hesitantly, "Can I ask you something?" 

"Sure." 

"Do you think I'm doing the right thing?" She knows that's probably not specific enough. "About... you know. The baby?" Dawn is pretty sure that's the first time she's called it that out loud. 

"It's your decision," Spike says, definitely _not_ for the first time. "'S not up to me." 

"I know. That's not what I'm asking. I just... would you tell me, if you thought I was making a mistake?" 

Spike makes his lips do that weird scrunching thing they do sometimes. "When was the last time you knew me to keep my mouth shut if I thought someone was making a mistake?" 

Dawn smiles, a little bit. "Well, yeah. But this is different. I mean... it feels different. To me." 

He sighs and reaches his hand out, and tucks a strand of her hair back behind her ear. "Yeah, to me too. Don't think this is one of those things with an easy answer, is all. Probably always going to wonder if you did the right thing." 

"I did. I am." She said it with more confidence than she felt, trying to convince herself because this would be way easier if she believed it. "I'm probably going to start, you know... bleeding," she told Spike, feeling that stupid blush burning in her cheeks again. 

Spike opens his mouth like he's going to say something, and that's when the window explodes inward with a crash and the sound of torn fabric, and suddenly the bedroom is on fire. 

* * *

It's so unexpected that for one endlessly long moment Spike doesn't move. 

Dawn's frantic hands on him snap him out of it. There's flames licking their way across the carpet, slow now but widespread and starting to move faster, and a liquor bottle stuffed with a filthy rag lying on its side in the middle of the fire. From the smell of it it's not booze but kerosene, and it blends with the chemical fume scent of the burning rug. 

Window shade's on the floor too -- tore itself from its fastenings when the window broke -- and he can see the sun's just setting. Not safe to go outside, not quite yet, and that's maybe what the creatures belonging to the voices he can hear through the busted glass are counting on. 

But now it's time to get the hell out of the room at least. Dawn's smart, doesn't hesitate and wait for him once she sees he's going to move. She bends down and grabs her jeans off the floor, ignoring Spike's, "Leave the bloody trousers!" and disappears into the hallway, her hair a shiny arc behind her. "Don't go anywhere without me!" he yells, then sidles up to the window and looks out, trying to catch a glimpse of whatever's attacking. 

When he sees, he turns and follows after Dawn, who's in the hallway, dancing back and forth from one foot to the other. She starts forward when he appears, grabs onto his shirt front. "What is it? Did you see? Is it, like, stake time?" 

"No," Spike says shortly, moving toward the entryway where they left most of their stuff. Cooler of blood's there \-- leaving something like that in the car's asking for trouble, not that lugging it around with them would be an option for long if he didn't expect the supply to be exhausted all too soon. He keeps a hand behind him, knowing Dawn's right there, and after a second feels her fingers close around his, unexpectedly cold. 

"Stay here," he tells her as they reach where the living room closes in and meets the foyer. "Away from the windows." 

He stands against the wall and glances out the small windows next to the door, but there's more of them out front. He can hear some of them talking, but not exactly what they're saying. 

"More out there," Spike says to Dawn, who's waiting at the edge of the living room, hands held together nervously. Her hair's mussed, but she still looks bloody gorgeous. Maybe even more so than usual, what with her eyes wide with fear and her lips slightly parted. He wrenches his mind back to the problem at hand. "We're gonna need some kind of distraction." 

There's a crash against the outside wall as something hits it, missing the window that they were probably aiming for. He reaches down and picks up his coat, which is looking distinctly the worse for wear these days, and puts it on, checking the pockets for whatever's in there that might be useful. Ditched the gun ages ago -- the thing about weapons that use ammunition is that sooner or later you run out -- and the long knife that he's used with some success previously is still in the car, damn it all. 

At least he knows he can move faster than them -- Dawn can't, which is another issue entirely, but he can carry her if it comes down that, although that'll slow him down some. Question is... do they know what he is? The fire would indicate it, plus why else wouldn't they have just broken in if they didn't know? Not to mention the fact that there's still the last dying rays of sunshine out there. 

Spike glances at Dawn. She's in the process of using an elastic thing to pull her hair back, getting it out of her face. 

"How many are there?" she asks, all business in a way that makes him grin despite the situation. 

"Five out back, another four or so. Figure ten or twelve altogether." 

"Okay, so how do we kill them?" Dawn crouches down as she puts on her shoes, tying them tightly but looking up at him. She watches Spike the way he imagines she'd look at a much bigger man. Like he's big and important enough to blot out the sky. "Is this one of those chop-off-their-heads things? Because that would be good to know." 

Spike clears his throat a bit. "Chopping off their heads would work," he says, since it's true enough. "Not necessary though." Then, because sooner or later she's gonna find out, and it might as well be from him, "They're human." 

"W-what?" She looks paler. "But... w-why would they...?" 

He doesn't let her finish, even though he's already watching out the window again, peering around the corner of the frame. "Don't know. Maybe they think we're both vampires." He glances at her again. "Or maybe they just don't care." 

She's stunned into silence, blinking. 

On the other side of the living room, another window comes crashing in, another burning bottle landing inside the house, this one spreading flames up the curtains and across the floor. Dawn snaps out of her reverie and moves, snatching a blanket off the couch and crossing the wide shaft of pale sunlight on the floor to smother the flames, but the look she gives Spike when she's done is just a little bit desperate. "What are we going to do?" 

Spike's thinking. "For now, get back over here and stay away from the bloody windows," he says. He opens up the cooler and sucks down a pint through the plastic wrapping -- figures at this point they're gonna have to leave it behind, so he might as well have some more before it's too late. 

Letting the empty bag fall to the floor, he nods his head toward the kitchen. "I say let's fight fire with fire." 

* * *

There's only two bottles of liquor in the kitchen, but a quick trip to the basement turns up a can of paint thinner too, and by the fumes Spike can smell escaping the closed lid he figures that ought to work just as well. Hastily emptied bottles of vinaigrette and the like from the cupboards each get a couple of inches of flammable liquid while Dawn tears up some cloth towels into strips, stuffing them into the necks of the bottles. 

"Okay, so we're clear on the plan?" Spike asks again, then they both flinch at the sound of another window breaking in the dining room. He can smell the smoke, sharp and acrid, almost oily, and he wonders how long they've got until they've got to leave the house one way or the other. 

"Yes," Dawn says, giving him a funny look. "We open the back door and start throwing these molotov cocktail things at them, then as soon as we throw the last one we make a break for it through the front." 

" _I_ throw them," Spike says sternly. 

Dawn rolls her eyes. "Hello? You're the one who catches on fire." 

"I'm also a hell of a lot stronger than you. And my aim's better." 

"Please. Just because I'm a girl -- " 

" _No_ , it's because I'm a bloody _vampire_." Spike saves the last couple of inches of vodka in the bottle he's got and holds out his hand for a strip of cloth to put into the neck. "I'm stronger than you. It's just the way things are, not some... indication of sexual discrimination." 

A pause, then Dawn nods. "Okay. Just don't forget -- we're in this together." 

He looks up from the bottle. "Not likely to forget that, Bit. We're a team, yeah? You and me." 

"Right. A team." Her lips turn up quick, a flash of a smile like the sunlight that's just finished fading outside. 

Spike takes his lighter out of his pocket. "Got the keys to the car?" 

"Uh-huh." Dawn holds them up to show him. 

"Good." He feels a grin spread across his face, his eyes narrowing. "Let's rock and roll." 

Dawn retreats to wait against the interior of the living room, and before Spike can even throw the back door open he hears another crash of broken glass in where she is. She shrieks slightly, then calls immediately, "I'm okay! Just do it!" 

Now or never. 

Back door comes right off its hinges when he kicks it open -- sometimes he doesn't know his own strength -- and he lobs the first lit bottle right at a guy in the middle of the small crowd. Hits him too, in an explosion of shattered glass and flames that set the bloke's clothes and hair on fire. Screams are like music to his ears, beautiful noise that spurs him to light and throw the second bottle. 

It doesn't hit anyone, but it does spread a nice puddle of liquid flames under the shoes of one of the other men, one who was trying to help the burning man, trying to put out the fire with his own coat. He backs off, leaving the first guy to writhe his way down onto the ground, screaming hoarsely and rolling in a way that's totally ineffectual. 

More men come around from the side of the house, and Spike can hear Dawn moving around in the living room. "You all right?" he yells. 

"Yeah!" She's sliding something across the floor, something heavy, but just then a bottle smashes to splinters on the doorframe next to Spike, bringing his attention back where it should be. 

He lights and throws another volley of bottles, cursing when return fire hits the other side of the doorframe and a shard of glass slices a gash into his cheek. Sets two more blokes on fire, seems like he gets another one in the eyes with paint thinner what with the way the guy's clawing at his face. 

Someone with aim as good as Spike's manages to toss a bottle through the open doorway, hits him in the side and sets the duster on fire in a flash of light and heat. Instinct has him stripping the coat off and stomping on it before he can even think, even though part of his brain's annoyed that he's managed to keep the thing so long only to lose it now. 

He goes back to throwing another few bottles. Then he's down to the last two, and shouts in Dawn's direction, "You ready?" 

"Yes!" 

Spike throws the bottles, careful with his aim because no point in wasting them, then turns tail and runs through the house, grabbing Dawn's hand on his way past her and throwing open the door. 

"The blood!" she says, pulling back. 

"There's no time," Spike tells her. "Just leave it." 

"No!" Dawn manages to slip her hand from his -- blast her and her delicate little bones -- and whirls toward the cooler, flipping the lid up and then thrusting two bags into Spike's startled grip before grabbing another two herself. She straightens up and freezes, eyes wide. "I forgot the pills." 

Spike shakes his head from side to side, the only way the unbearable frustration at the situation can be handled, and grabs her shoulder, shoving her toward the front door. "Go to the car," he says, starting back toward the bathroom. "I'll be right there." 

He tears down the hallway into the bathroom and snatches the pills up from the sink, then heads back toward the front of the house. Dawn's waiting halfway across the lawn, backing away from the house slowly. "Go!" he shouts. "What the hell are you waiting for?" 

She turns and takes off toward the car. Always impresses him how fast she can move when there's a real need, but he still overtakes her, reaching out to grab the keys from her hand as he passes her. Fumbles and drops one of the bags of blood in the process, but Dawn stops and picks it up, getting into the passenger seat of the car not much later than Spike's slid clear of it and behind the wheel. 

Spike starts the car and stomps on the gas just as the last couple of men standing make it around to the front yard, and Dawn turns and, he's pretty sure, sticks her tongue out at them as they start down the street, tires squealing on the pavement. 

He can smell blood. "Are you hurt?" 

Dawn shakes her head a bit. "No. But you are." She reaches a hand toward his face and he turns it, preventing her from touching his cheek. 

"Leave it," he says, glancing over at the bags of blood sitting in her lap. "One of those sprung a leak then? I can smell it." Damn it, it smells like her. 

She picks them up, and the scent gets stronger. Turns them over in her hands. "They're okay. Maybe it's yours?" Before Spike can grab the one he dropped on the floor, Dawn gives a little moan. "Uh-oh." 

"What?" He glances at her sharply. 

"I know where it's coming from." 

Dawn lifts up her hand, and her little finger and the side of her hand are smeared red. Spike's gaze falls another few inches to where her jeans are becoming soaked with an ever-increasing stain of blood like a tide. 

* * *

It's cold in the car. Dawn can hear her teeth chattering. She knows dimly that Spike turned the heat up, all the way, hot air blasting out of the little vents, but she's still cold. Her fingers feel numb. 

"The seat's getting all gross," she says faintly. Her voice sounds far away, and Spike looks... kind of blurry. And worried. Those almost rhyme, she thinks, and smiles. She feels crampy, like right when she gets her period, but different. Deeper. 

"Don't worry about the seat," Spike says, and he sounds far away, too. He keeps glancing over at her. "Not like we can't get another car." 

"I like this one." Dawn's too cold to shiver. The only part of her that's warm is where her clothes are wet with blood. At this point she's pretty sure that this... whatever it is, miscarriage... doesn't have anything to do with the pills she took a few hours ago. It's too soon. And she doesn't think there's supposed to be this much blood, not all at once. 

She knows this is bad, but she feels kind of floaty. 

"I don't care," she hears herself say. 

"What?" 

"Dying," Dawn says, kind of dreamily. "Do you think this is what it felt like? For Buffy?" 

"You're not dying," Spike growls. "This happens all the time. Part of nature. You'll be fine." 

Dawn rolls her head toward him, her hands catching in the thick sweater that Spike draped over her a while ago. "Promise?" 

Spike nods, reaches out and touches her cheek. His fingers feel warm. "'Til the end of the world," he says, but it's kind of like he's not talking to her. The words echo inside her as everything goes soft and dark and fuzzy, like sinking under murky water. 

Drowning is more peaceful than she'd thought it would be, and Spike's voice is so muffled and far away that she can hardly hear it. 

"Bit?" 

A long pause, buzzing quiet. 

"Dawn?" 

She's too far away to answer.  


**II. Small Sanctuary**

"If you get up out of that bed, I'm going to put you over my knee and give you a proper spanking," Spike tells Dawn, pointing a finger at her like he wants her to know he means it. 

" _Eww_ ," Dawn says. "And anyway, Peter _said_ I could get up today." 

"I don't care if Peter told you you can... do something else ridiculous that you're not going to do," Spike says, all blustery. "It's barely been two weeks. You should be resting." 

"I've _been_ resting," Dawn says. She flops back down on the pillows with a dramatic sigh. "I'm sick of looking at this ceiling. Do you know how many different shapes I can see in that weird stain up there?" 

"Fifteen," Spike says right away. "Which is one more than the number of days you've been in bed. You can get up tomorrow." 

Stubbornly, she sits up again, throwing back the sheet and blanket and turning so that her feet touch the floor. She's wearing these silly pink fuzzy socks that Spike found somewhere, and they've barely touched the floor except for when she got up to pee, and she's not ever sure that counts. The toilet's like twelve steps from the bed. 

"Look," she says, trying to sound reasonable. "I get that you're worried about me. But I'm okay. And I can't stay in bed forever. I'll get, like, muscle atrophy or something." 

"Ten minutes," Spike says. "Quick walk down the hallway, then back to bed." 

"Okay." Dawn only agrees because Spike doesn't have a watch and has a cruddy sense of time. She figures she can get half an hour out of him easy. 

Part of the reason she's so eager to get up is because she still hasn't had a chance to even see the place. The first six days they were there are a blur -- vague memories of Spike talking to her, and maybe crying once, but she's not sure that really happened and she's _so_ not going to ask -- and the next few after that she was still sleeping most of the time. 

It's a school, but it's small. There's a heavy stone foundation with small windows -- too small for people to get through, but they're blocked off now anyway because you could still throw stuff through them. The basement level has two entrances, front and back, and Peter secured them a while ago. 

Dawn's been in the one room the whole time, and since there's nothing like tv anymore, she's totally sick of it. Peter and Spike dragged in stuff from what used to be the nurse's office upstairs -- the cot, medical supplies, blankets. 

Walking is harder than she thought it was going to be. It's like getting up for the first time after you've been sick in bed with the flu -- kind of shaky and lightheaded. Peter says she lost half her blood volume and that it probably won't all be replaced for weeks, so she shouldn't expect to feel normal again for a while. Still, anything's better than being in bed all day. 

The walls are brick, painted over with what looks like about eighteen coats of ugly beige paint, and there are big old pipes overhead. "At least there's plumbing," Dawn says, not even wanting to think about how seriously gross this place would be without it. 

"Yeah," Spike says. He's walking right next to her, watching her like she might fall over any second. 

"I'm okay," Dawn says. "I'm not going to, like, pass out or anything." 

"Glad to hear it." But Spike relaxes a little bit, and that's good. 

He's wearing some clothes that Peter brought back from one of his supply runs -- blue jeans instead of black, but the right size, and a long-sleeved gray t-shirt. Dawn thinks the stuff he was wearing before probably got all covered with her blood, and even a vampire might not want to walk around like that. "Is it like spilling food on your shirt?" she asks, without realizes she's going to say anything. 

"What are you on about?" Spike tilts his head to one side, looking confused. He's cute like that. 

"Sorry," Dawn says. "I meant... is having blood on your clothes the same as spilling food. You know..." 

Spike shrugs a little bit. "Guess so. Never really thought about it before." He points down the hallway. "Couple of classrooms down there -- using one for storage, Peter's got some of his stuff in the other one." 

The room they stop in front of is set up kind of like living space -- a table and chairs, a refrigerator and a stove, a couch and some mats that look like they came from the gymnasium or something. There's a big glass bowl full of cigarette butts on the table -- Spike's smoking more than ever, especially since Peter knows where to get just about anything and doesn't seem to mind getting cigarettes even though he doesn't smoke himself. 

"Wow," Dawn says, not as impressed as she should be, but trying to sound it anyway. "I get the whole tour." 

"Two more floors up there." Spike gestures at the ceiling. 

"But we can't go up there," Dawn says, kind of like a question. 

Spike puts a hand on the small of her back and pushed her gently forward into the room, over to the couch. "We can go up there. It's just safer down here. There's a gate with a lock. Chains. " 

Dawn sits down on the couch, because she's already kind of tired, and watches as Spike lights a cigarette and inhales deeply. "So..." she starts. "Are we going to stay here?" 

"Don't know." Spike is slouched in a chair, doing that thing where he's watching her but pretends like he's not. "You want to?" 

"Well, considering so far I've spent most of my time here in the bathroom, pretending like it was a bedroom?" Dawn sighs and pulls her slippered feet onto the couch, curling them underneath her. She's not thinking about all the blood, or the way it hurt, or how she was cold but sweating at the same time. She knows one of them -- either Spike or Peter -- washed her off, after, because when she woke up for real she didn't look like a victim in a horror movie anymore, but she doesn't know which one of them it was. 

She doesn't think Spike would have let Peter do it, but she feels funny when she thinks about Spike touching her, seeing parts of her that he hasn't seen before. It makes her tummy hurt, in a weird way. 

Spike's still watching her. "You okay? You want to go lie down?" 

Dawn's so tired that the conversation is getting away from her. "No, I'm okay. What were we talking about?" 

"About whether we should stay." He looks like he would have rather let the matter drop. 

"Oh. Right." Dawn's fingertips are dry and cracked. She should do that thing Mom used to do, putting on a ton of moisturizer and then wearing gloves to bed. "It's safe here. Isn't it?" 

Spike stubs out his cigarette on the edge of the bowl and drops the butt in with all the other ones. Something about the way he's sitting makes her think he's really, really tired. 

"Safe enough," he says finally. 

* * *

He'd thought she was dead. Well, knew she wasn't, but close enough that he didn't see how it was going to turn out otherwise. Thought maybe he could keep her alive out of sheer desperation, like force of will could stop someone's body from giving up the ghost. 

So when Spike had driven past the school and seen the faint red image of a truck's taillights disappearing around the corner of it, there'd been nothing else to do but stop and hope. Wouldn't have said he'd prayed, because there isn't any question in his mind that there's no one up there listening to anyone, least of all him, but something close to 'Please, God,' might have flashed through his mind once or twice. 

Peter should have killed him. Knew that at the time, and he knows it now. Figures the only thing that saved him is that he pulled Dawn across the front seat into his arms before getting out of the car -- wouldn't have been able to if she wasn't such a little thing. The way she was bleeding down all over him, warm wet seeping through his clothes, is what had convinced Peter that Spike must be human. 

Spike waited almost a day before telling the bloke otherwise, and ended up pinned against the wall with a stake to his chest for his trouble. 

"Don't you think I'd have hurt her by now if I was going to?" Spike had growled, not putting up more than a token struggle, and that because he'd be damned if he'd surrender completely. 

It had taken fifteen minutes to convince Peter that he wasn't a threat, least not to people he had reason to care about or respect. Longest fifteen minutes of Spike's life, maybe, wondering what would happen to Dawn if he was nothing but a pile of dust. Who'd look out for her? This bloke? Not bloody likely. 

Or maybe a little bit more likely than Spike wants to admit to himself even now. Something he needs to discuss with Peter, he thinks, since Dawn's up and about again. 

When he finishes smoking his second fag, she's asleep on the couch, curled up small. Spike can't see any point to moving her, so he gets a blanket from the mat where Peter sleeps and drapes it over her carefully, not wanting to wake her up. She needs all the sleep she can get at this point. 

It's mid-afternoon, about an hour later, when Spike hears the sound of Peter's truck pulling up. The engine cuts out and all's quiet again, so he assumes that means everything went okay. Guy seems to know where to find just about anything -- two days before he'd come back with about a year's supply of instant breakfast powder, which they've been coaxing into Dawn in an attempt to get her to gain back some of the weight she's lost. 

He stops to run a hand over her hair gently, making sure that she's asleep, before he goes down and waits on the other side of the barrier Peter's created at the more accessible end of the hallway. 

"I hit the jackpot," Peter says in greeting, handing a crumpled paper bag through the bars and into Spike's hands. 

Spike gets the key off the hook and unlocks the heavy padlocks, then Peter unwinds the chains and goes back for three boxes of supplies, setting them just inside the shadows. Spike ferries them down into the supply room, taking a quick peek while he's at it. Not like he's beyond helping himself to something choice, though he imagines Peter would notice if anything good's gone missing. 

All that's in the paper bag is a collection of vitamin bottles, so Spike takes them out one by one and lines them up on one of the shelves, curious as to what all the fuss is about. B-Complex, C, Iron... it's not until he comes across one called 'Women's Formula' that he realizes they're for Dawn. 

Peter comes in with the last box and sets it down on the table. "She should be taking the iron," he says. "The other ones too, but the iron's probably the most important." 

"Right," Spike says. The two of them move around each other carefully -- not exactly uncomfortable, but not really relaxed either. Still feeling each other out. Spike doesn't quite trust Peter, and he knows Peter doesn't trust him either. 

One of the things that he's pretty sure convinced Peter to let him continue with his unlife is the fact that Dawn, half-conscious and murmuring, had said his name. 

He couldn't have asked for better proof that he was on her side. 

There's a mat in the corner where Spike's been sleeping -- not enough trust for them to be asleep in the same room, not that it would matter since they've slept different times of the day anyway. The first five nights Spike had slept on the floor, sitting up against the wall, with one hand resting on the cot where Dawn was. 

On the sixth afternoon, Peter had come back with some cases of fags for him. Bloke came into the makeshift hospital room to check on Dawn after he'd finished unloading the truck, and told Spike that they were in the supply room for him. When he'd gone to check it out, there'd been a mat with some blankets and a ratty pillow in there too. 

"We can move her out of the bathroom now," Peter says, piling packages of batteries and some flashlights on a low shelf. High ones are for food -- makes it harder for the mice, which are stealthy enough that it's tough to know how many of them there actually are, to get to it. "She might as well keep the cot." 

"I want to sleep wherever Spike does," Dawn says, from the doorway. 

Spike glances up at her, quick. He hadn't even heard her wake up. "Okay. We can move your cot in here." He looks around the room. "Guess we can move these shelves over there, clear up a little more space." 

Peter empties out the last box and piles it with the others just inside the doorway. He doesn't comment on Dawn's choice of sleeping arrangements, but Spike thinks he can read something in the man's posture. Irritation, maybe. 

But then Peter says, "Okay, Dawn, I need to tell you about these vitamins I want you to start taking," and he sounds regular, friendly and... normal. Spike thinks this bloke might be the most normal guy on the planet, and has no idea how he's managed to survive so long by himself. 

He leans against the wall and has another smoke as he watches Peter explain to Dawn about the different pills, how many to take a day and which ones not to take together because they'll cancel each other out or some such. She's still pale with dark circles under her eyes, but she's listening to him like he knows what he's talking about -- and grudgingly, Spike has to admit that he seems to. 

Peter's not a doctor, but he plays one on tv. 

"Right," Dawn's saying, making sure she gets it. "The iron and the vitamin C together." 

"Uh-huh." Peter reaches out and tucks her hair back behind her ear, and she smiles at him like Spike imagines she'd smile at a favorite teacher. 

He has a little wander because he doesn't want to watch \-- goes back and makes sure the locks are secure, checks each room in turn so he knows the windows are intact. Feels like he's turned into a sodding security guard. 

Place is safe. No one getting in. 

Something about that makes him anxious to get out. 

* * *

Spike is hungry again. 

Dawn would be able to tell by the way he snaps at her and Peter for no real reason, even if she couldn't see it in the way he has to belt his jeans to keep them up. That's the thing about guys -- no hips. Peter doesn't have any either, and always wears a belt, but she can still tell by the little folds of fabric at Spike's waist, under the belt, that he's getting skinnier again. 

Peter goes on another supply run and brings back a goat. It's kind of cute, in a freaky, alien looking sort of way. Its jaw moves sideways when it chews, and its eyes are kind of... square. 

"Gonna cook it up?" Spike asks, and Peter nods. 

"Might as well," he says. "Otherwise it'll just go to waste, right?" 

A look passes between them, some guy thing that they usually do over Dawn's head like she's not capable of understanding whatever it is they're talking about. It always annoys her. 

But when Peter asks if she wants to play some cards \-- he's teaching her cribbage, which is kind of fun and not as complicated as she'd thought -- Dawn gets it, no matter what they think. 

"I'm not stupid," she tells them both, hands on her hips. "I knew that was why Peter brought her back here in the first place." Jeez. Men. 

So Spike takes the goat off into the back of the hallway while Dawn and Peter play cards, and when he's done with the whole big sucking thing Peter guts and skins the goat and makes goat stew. No, seriously. It's totally disgusting and Dawn wants nothing to do with it. 

It would be one thing if it was a cow or something. But a goat? Eww. She'd rather eat a can of tuna. 

Anyway, she's not hungry. She keeps eating regular meals because she's supposed to, and because Spike and Peter both bug her if she doesn't, but mostly she just feels confused. She wants some feeling of knowing what comes next, and instead it feels like nothing does. Like there's just this big... nothing stretching out in front of them. 

They can stay here, she thinks, the three of them. Peter's nice, and he knows how to take care of them. And it's not a bad place -- there's running water, and some kind of generator that runs on gas and gives them enough electricity for the little refrigerator and the stove. Not that there's fresh food to store, mostly, but they can save leftovers, and it's a place to keep blood for Spike, if there was any. 

Peter has some books, and when no one's paying attention to her, Dawn looks through them. It takes six weeks for the human body to replace a pint of donated blood, more or less. 

She brings up the subject one morning when she and Spike are falling asleep, and Peter is just getting up for the day. They're still on their sleep-while-the-sun's-out schedule, which means actually managing to go to sleep while Peter does whatever isn't always the easiest thing. 

"Did you know," she says, trying to sound casual, "that it only takes six weeks for your body to replace a pint of blood?" 

"Not my body," Spike says. He tilts his head to look up at her from where he's lying flat on his back on the mat he sleeps on. 

Dawn rolls her eyes at him. "Well, regular people." 

"Oh, all of a sudden I'm not regular?" Spike is doing that thing where he tries to sound offended, but she can see right through him. "Thanks a lot. And after all I've done for you..." 

"Shut up," she says. The metal frame of the cot is cold against her fingers -- it feels nice. Kind of soothing. "Anyway, I -- " 

"No," Spike says. 

"But you don't even know what I'm -- " 

" _No_. And it's not up for discussion." Spike closes his eyes. 

Dawn wants to throw something at him, but she figures if she throws her pillow there's no _way_ she's getting it back. "Fine," she says. "Whatever." 

"Go to sleep." 

She knows she's not going to, but for a long time she pretends anyway. She makes her breathing slow and measured, relaxes her whole body into the thin mattress of the cot even though it kind of digs into her hip where there's this metal bar thing underneath. 

When Dawn is sure that Spike is asleep, she opens her eyes. 

He always sleeps right next to her cot, like _right_ next to her. That way, if someone came in, he'd be right there, between her and danger. She reaches out a tentative hand and touches his arm, but he doesn't move. He's cool, but his skin is soft. It feels nice underneath her fingertips. 

She wonders what other parts of him feel like. Is the skin of his stomach that soft too? Or the backs of his knees? Sometimes Dawn dreams that they're, well, naked, and she can touch him wherever she wants to. Her brain thinks it knows the sounds he'd make, and what it would feel like to have him touching her back, in the places that tingle when she gets... excited. 

Spike's t-shirt is riding up, and she can see this kind of line where his pubic hair starts, low down just above the waistband of his jeans. The little wisps of hair are dark brown, not blonde. Not that she thinks he's a natural blonde anyway, but still. There's something sweet about it, those few little hairs. Dawn can tell just by looking that the skin there is softer than anywhere else, and without really thinking about it, her fingers reach to find out. 

He murmurs in his sleep when she touches him, and she snatches her hand back fast, but then he just keeps lying there, so she tries again. She was right -- the skin there is really soft, just like hers, or sort of like the insides of her thighs. 

He makes a little sound, and this time Dawn doesn't pull her hand away. She just waits. He isn't moving or anything -- well okay, maybe part of him is, but she's pretty sure he's still asleep, so she just trails her fingertips over that soft, soft bit of skin, liking the way his hair feels, kind of crinkly. Like her own pubic hair, but finer, like it's some weird stuff designed to lure you in. 

Dawn can see the outline of Spike's cock under his jeans. She can tell he's hard, and she wonders what it would feel like in her hand. Heavy, probably. Hesitantly, she moves her hand lower, letting her palm rub over it. It's big, and touching it gives her a funny feeling. 

Then Peter walks into the storage room, and she pulls her hand away fast, feeling herself blush. 

He looks over at her. She must have a weird expression on her face or something, because he asks, quietly, "You okay?" 

Dawn nods. "Uh-huh." 

She lies back down with her head on the pillow again and watches while Peter gets out some stuff, wondering what he's going to do today while they're sleeping. It's sort of like they're living two totally different lives, the way she and Spike are up at night when Peter's asleep. 

With a flashlight in his hand, Peter comes over closer, standing over where Spike is sleeping. "You sure you're okay?" 

"Yeah. I'm fine." 

"Okay." Peter shifts his weight from one foot to the other. "You going to be able to sleep?" 

She shrugs. "I don't know." 

He hesitates, then suggests, "Want to come help me with something?" 

It's not like she isn't totally awake anyway. She might as well do something useful, instead of lying here looking at Spike, not to mention practically molesting him in his sleep. 

Dawn kicks back the blanket and gets up, stepping over Spike's feet carefully so she won't wake him up. "Okay. Sure." 

* * *

Dawn doesn't hesitate until they get to the barricade where all the chains are and Peter starts to unlock the padlocks. "Um... we're going outside?" 

"I think there's a leak somewhere in the plumbing," Peter says, stopping what he's doing and looking at her. "I can't get to it from in here -- we have to go upstairs." 

"But isn't that, you know... dangerous?" 

"It's the middle of the day," Peter points out, opening another lock. "We'll be able to hear if anything's coming. I'm armed." He lifts his shirt to show her the gun stuck into the front of his jeans, and Dawn sees his tanned flat stomach and dark hair too. She looks away. "Look, if you don't want to come, that's fine." 

"No," she says stubbornly. "Anything's better than staring at the ceiling." 

Peter gives her a look. "I'm not sure what that says about my company." 

Dawn grins and shoves his arm. "Weirdo." 

"Takes one to know one," Peter shoots back. 

"What are you, secretly twelve?" she asks, shoving his arm again. "I haven't heard that since, like, seventh grade. Well, except for when Buffy..." She trails off, feeling weird talking about her. 

"Sister?" Peter guesses. 

"Yeah." Dawn says it flatly, hoping that Peter will figure out that she _so_ doesn't want to talk about it. 

Luckily, he seems to. He finishes unlocking everything and threading the chains through, then they step out onto the other side. 

"What about Spike?" Dawn asks. 

"What about him?" 

"Well, he's gonna be, you know... unprotected." She's not too thrilled about the idea. "What if something happens? I mean, what if something gets in?" 

Peter turns and starts for the stairs that lead to the outside instead of the ones that go up, leaving the tool box he's been carrying on the floor. "He's a vampire \-- he'll be fine. Come here. I want to show you something." 

It's the first time Dawn's been outside in the sunshine since they got here. Actually, since before they got here, what with the whole traveling at night thing. She has to hold her hand up to shield her eyes from it, it's so bright. 

And it's so... quiet. It would be like being at the beach or something, way out in the country where there's no one else around, except there isn't the sound of waves, or birds. Or anything. It's just... totally quiet. No cars, no people, no nothing. 

It's creepy. 

"Let's go back in," Dawn says, turning back toward the door. 

Peter grabs onto her wrist and stops her, and she tries to pull away, but he's strong. He moves behind her, one arm wrapped around her front just above her breasts, and she's scared. He turns her back out to face the courtyard, where their car and Peter's truck are. "Just look," he says. 

Dawn doesn't know what she's supposed to be looking at, but that's when she notices that Peter is actually holding her pretty gently, and not trying to like touch her or anything. "L-look at what?" 

"Listen." 

"There's nothing to listen to." Her heart is beating kind of fast. 

"That's my point." Peter lets her go, then steps around so she has to look at him. "There's nothing scary out here. Not anything worse than there was before, anyway." 

She looks at him uncertainly. 

"People can be monsters too." Peter's face is serious, like he's trying to make sure she understands what he's saying. "The world -- it's still about the same. Now it's just easier to tell who the monsters are." 

Dawn doesn't think he's right, because lots of good people are gone too. People like Willow, and Tara, and Xander. She remembers how Willow and Tara made pancakes and how Tara was really good at the funny shapes -- she could make Jupiter and spell out people's names so that you could even read them. She remembers playing board games with Xander, stupid ones that she knew he really didn't like but was just humoring her with. 

But she's not going to think about them. It's too hard, and it doesn't help. It doesn't change anything. 

Folding her arms in front of her chest, still able to feel Peter's touch, she asks, "So where are these leaky pipes?" 

Peter keeps looking at her. Then he nods. "Come on, I'll show you." 

They go back inside, which is a pretty big relief, and up to the second -- or maybe it's the first -- floor of the school, up over where their bathroom is. There's another bathroom here, and Peter was right, one of the pipes is leaking. There's water all over the tile floor, in a big puddle, and Dawn is surprised that it hasn't leaked right through their ceiling into the basement. 

"Thought so." Peter sets the tool box on one of the sinks and finds a wrench and the flashlight. He gives the flashlight to Dawn and crouches down on the floor in front of the next sink. "Can you shine that right here?" 

She has to move closer, and she can feel the water starting to seep through her shoes as she bends down to shine the light onto the pipe. 

"This is why we haven't been getting enough water pressure," Peter says, trying to tighten some part of the pipe with the wrench. There's a low-pitched squeal of metal grinding on metal, then a funny snapping noise, and water starts to spray everywhere like a blast from a hose gone berserk. 

Dawn shrieks in surprise as the cool water hits her with a surprising force, soaking her clothes and her hair. She jerks sideways, and the front edge of the flashlight smacks Peter in the head, really hard, and he yells. 

"Sorry!" She backs away as water keeps shooting out everywhere. Her t-shirt is clinging to her body and her leggings, which she usually wears to sleep in, are heavy with the weight of the water. Peter swears and does something under the sink with the wrench, even though he's getting soaked doing it, and then the water slows to a trickle. 

Peter looks up at her, and she can see a thin line of watery blood running down the side of his face. "Ow. You're dangerous with that thing, aren't you." 

"Are you okay?" Dawn asks, dropping the flashlight into the sink with a loud clattering sound of metal and plastic or whatever sinks are made out of, and sinking down onto her knees, mindless of the water since she's already drenched anyway. She turns Peter's head so she can see the place she hit him. There's a little curved cut just above his temple, but even though the blood is oozing out steadily, it doesn't look deep. "It's okay. It's not bad." 

"Don't worry -- I've had worse." Peter's eyes are green, or maybe kind of hazel. His face is sandpaper rough against her palm. There's something about the way he's looking at her that's... confusing. Not bad, just weird. 

Dawn looks down at herself and realizes that her pale pink t-shirt, now soaked with water, is clinging to her breasts, outlining them like she's in some kind of sorority girls MTV special. It almost looks like she's not wearing anything at all. 

"What the bloody hell," Spike's voice says from behind her, making her jump, "is going on?" 

* * *

The sound of Dawn's scream is what wakes him from a deep sleep, and even though Spike sits up quickly, at first he's convinced that he's dreaming. Because he just went to sleep with her beside him on her narrow little cot. 

Takes more than a few seconds to figure out that it's real. Soon as he does, Spike moves, through the room and out into the hallway, listening, every muscle tensed and ready for battle. There's a scuffle from upstairs, no sounds from the basement itself, and he's down the hall and through the opened barricade in a flash. 

If he'd been more aware he'd have realized that the barricade was carefully opened, which means from the inside, but he's not. He's focused on one thing -- Dawn. 

Up the stairs to the floor above them, dodging shafts of sunlight where they come in through the windows. Into the bathroom there, where Dawn is kneeling in a widening puddle of water with her back to the door, one hand on Peter's face and the other one touching his hair. No signs of a struggle, or anything gone more wrong than a leaky pipe. 

"What the bloody hell," he asks, with his hands clenched into fists, needing to hit _something_ , "is going on?" 

Dawn twitches and turns. Her wet clothes are plastered to her and her hair's damp too, hanging down in strands that are shedding drops down into the water already on the floor. "Fixing a pipe?" she says, like she's not sure. "And then the water kind of went everywhere, and -- " 

"I can see that," Spike says, interrupting her attempt to explain. He's angry with her for more reasons than he can count, but the ones at the top of the list are for putting herself in danger and for doing it with bloody Peter, who should know better. "Seemed like a good idea to come up here without any protection, did it?" 

She gets to her feet slowly -- Spike trying not to notice the relief he feels when she's not touching Peter anymore. He can tell by the look on her face that she sees how furious he is. "He brought a gun," she says, gesturing behind her at Peter. 

"Yeah -- something like that'll do a lot of good against monsters," Spike says. There's a point that needs to be made here, and he doesn't care if Peter will forgive him for using him to make it. 

Moving with vampire speed before either of them can react, he crosses the room, grabbing Peter along the way. When he stops, he's got Peter pushed up against the wall, one hand around the man's throat (but not squeezing tight like he could be, because he's just making a point.) The gun that was stuck in the waistband of Peter's jeans is in Spike's other hand, the muzzle barely grazing the skin just under Peter's jaw. 

"Feel safe now, Bit?" Spike asks, enunciating carefully around his fangs because he's in game face. "Think a gun can protect you from all the evil beasties that go bump in the night?" 

"Spike! What are you -- stop it!" 

He eases off -- takes a few steps back, letting Peter go and slipping back into human face. The other man looks kind of stunned, maybe a flicker of anger burning there behind his eyes. 

Maybe not. 

Spike thinks it wouldn't be the first time he's done something stupid, made himself an enemy where he didn't mean to, so he tries to apologize. "Just trying to make a point," he says. Turns the gun around, slow, and offers Peter the butt of it. "No offense, mate." 

Peter looks at him, then nods and takes the gun. "You're making me look bad," he says. "I just got finished convincing her that the world's not such a bad place, even now." 

A snort of derision escapes him before he can stop it. "World's always been a bad place." He glances at Dawn, who's standing there looking uncertain, her soaked clothing molding itself to her curves. "People are just in it for themselves. Pain, death... it's all around. If you think this..." Spike sweeps his arm to indicate the world, "isn't so bad, you're fooling yourself." 

Dawn's face lets him know he's gone wrong, said it so that she's feeling scared and small again, and the realization makes him angry. At her, at himself. 

"Get back downstairs," he tells her. "And if I ever catch you up here on your own again, I'll rip you into little pieces with my bare hands. You hear me?" 

She nods. Glances down, sees that she might as well be bloody naked, and wraps her arms around herself. But then she lifts her chin defiantly, and says, "I wasn't alone. I was with Peter." 

Of course, that just irritates Spike more. He storms across the room and grabs her, dragging her out into the hallway as she struggles and squawks. "If you aren't with me, you're alone. Just got finished telling you he can't bloody well protect you." 

On the landing, Dawn rips her damp sleeve from his grip and whirls to face him, anger sparking off her like a firecracker. "Neither can you!" 

He grabs onto her upper arm this time, harder. "I'll do a damn sight better than some stupid human!" Christ, she's being infuriating. He wants to slam her up against the wall, shake some sense into her. 

"He's not stupid!" Dawn tries to pull her arm away from him, but he ignores that and heads down the stairs with her beside him. "God, he's trying to _help_ us! Spike, _stop it_." 

The last words are grated out through what might be tears, and Spike stops just outside the barricade and turns her to face him again, one hand on each of her upper arms to keep her still, because he's going to make her listen. Going to make her hear this, one way or another. "You think he wants to help? He bloody _wants_ you, Dawn. You think beautiful young girls are ten to the penny these days?" 

"I'm not... that," Dawn says, her face closing in on itself. 

"Not what... beautiful? Bit... _Dawn_... you're gorgeous." The thin fabric of her t-shirt's cool against Spike's palms, and he thinks she ought to get out of these wet clothes before she catches a chill. The thought of seeing her strip it off -- or of doing it for her -- makes him harder than he already is. 

"Let go of me," she says, letting her hair fall down to hide her expression. "Spike, let go." 

And he knows it's unbelievably stupid of him, that it's not the right place or time, but his lack of self-control comes galloping forward, and he pulls her closer and kisses her. Not too hard, but long enough so that she knows he means business, that he's serious. Her mouth tastes like grape jam, sweet and a little bit sticky, and Spike can't help himself, he slides his hand down to cup one small breast, rubs his thumb over the taut nipple. 

Dawn sighs and lets him -- doesn't tense up or try to push him away, which is a hell of a surprise as far as Spike's concerned. She's inexperienced, sure, but not like he minds taking the lead. He gentles his hands, uses his lips and tongue to encourage her to open her mouth against his, then flickers the tip of his tongue between her lips, quick and dirty. 

_That_ word makes him realize what he's doing, and with who. He pulls back, lets go of her, holding both hands out to his sides to show that there's no threat here, leastwise, not from him. 

But Spike doesn't know what to say. 

Dawn looks up, her eyes meeting his for just a fleeting second, and then her gaze moves over his shoulder, looking at something there. 

Spike tenses and glances behind him. Peter's standing on the landing, watching them. 

Without another word, before anyone can say anything, Dawn whirls and disappears through the barricade, down the hallway into the storage room. 

Peter clears his throat, shifts the tool box from one hand to the other. Opens his mouth like he's gonna say something, then shakes his head. 

A sound of disgust mixed with disbelief escapes Spike, and he shakes his head too. "Brilliant." 

* * *

All Dawn can think is: Spike kissed me. Oh my God, he kissed me! 

She knows he's standing outside in the hallway -- she might not be a vampire, but she can still hear the click of his lighter. She can tell he's waiting for her to get changed, because he always does that, smokes just on the other side of the doorway. 

It gives her time to think, struggling out of the wet t-shirt. Her breasts ache with the memory of how it felt to have him touching her, her nipples tingling and tight. She seriously needs a bra, she thinks, because she's not really small chested enough to get away with going around without one anymore, plus if Spike's right about Peter... 

Dawn doesn't know if he is. Peter's a nice guy -- she likes him, not to mention the whole thing about him probably having saved her life. But he's not Spike, who she had a crush on way before she even realized that he was totally in love with Buffy. Spike's, like... special. 

She puts on a thicker t-shirt that maybe hides her breasts better, then shimmies out of her leggings, which are totally soaked and gross, and pulls on another pair. It's a good thing Peter knows where to go for clothes, because a lot of the ones she had in the car when they got there ended up bloody -- well, the pants anyway. 

"I'm done," Dawn says, knowing that Spike is waiting. 

There's a pause, and then he appears in the doorway. "All comfy cozy?" 

She reaches for a towel so that she can dry her hair, which is still hanging in wet strings around her face. She's been washing in the bathroom sink since they've been here, which is nowhere near as good as a shower. It always feels like there's shampoo still in her hair, no matter how many times she rinses it all bent over, thinking that she's going to end up with a hump like old Mrs. Burdock from middle school. "It's not like I knew that was going to happen," she says finally. 

Spike takes a drag on his cigarette and watches her, all serious. "Which? The water?" He gestures at her head. 

"No. Well, that too. But I meant the whole... going upstairs thing. I just said I'd help." Dawn glances around, but she doesn't see her hairbrush. She keeps putting it down places and then forgetting about it. 

"So one minute you were down here where it's safe, and the next you blinked and you were upstairs, that it?" Spike takes another drag and lets it out fast, all at once. "And here I always thought teleportation was something reserved for witches." 

Dawn swallows. She doesn't want to be reminded of Willow, because that makes her think about Tara and Xander and Giles and... "No, I just meant..." She sighs and turns around. "Never mind." It's not like he wants to hear what she's thinking anyway. 

"No, go on. Tell me what you meant." Spike drops his cigarette onto the floor and crushes it out with his boot, which is seriously gross and definitely missing something without the duster. At one point Dawn thought she'd be glad to see the thing go -- it was all old and yucky, plus she didn't think it fit Spike right -- but she actually kind of misses it. 

"I was trying to help," she says. There's something kind of desperate in her voice, because she just wants him to understand. 

She doesn't want him to be all mad at her. 

Spike sighs. "I get that, Bit." He rubs a hand over his face like he's tired. Which actually would make sense, since they're supposed to be sleeping. "I'm s'posed to make sure nothing happens to you." It's so quiet that Dawn isn't sure for a second what he said. 

She can't just leave him standing there like that, looking all sad and tired, so she goes over and takes his hand, then starts to walk backwards toward where they sleep. "Stuff's going to happen to me," she tells him. "You can't -- you can't stop that." 

The thing that usually looks like anger in his eyes seems different now. "Have to," he says. "I promised..." 

For a minute, Dawn thinks he's going to cry, and that's so freaky that she pulls him down to sit next to her on the cot. "I know you told Buffy you'd take care of me." She also knows that he was totally in love with Buffy, and that probably means he can't be in love with her. She's just kind of... there, and they're both dealing with a lot of stuff. People do weird things when they're, like, grieving, or whatever. "Why don't you trust him?" 

Spike shakes his head, like he doesn't know how to put it into words. "Just don't," he says quietly. 

"So what was that..." God, she shouldn't ask, but she can't help herself. "Why did you... you know." 

"Become a vampire?" Spike grins, and he's all cocky and annoying. Dawn can tell that he thinks he's being really funny, or that he hopes she'll think he thinks that. "Well, see, pet, when two grown up vampires love each other very very much -- " 

Dawn shoves his arm. "Not _that_." Then she frowns, confused. "Wait, Buffy said vampires making vampires was this whole sucking thing." 

Spike nods. "Yeah, it is. You didn't think I was serious, did you?" 

"No." She really hadn't. God, why does everyone assume that she's stupid? At least Peter seems to think she's helpful and stuff. "Anyway, I meant... why did you kiss me?" As soon as she asks it, she's really, really sure she shouldn't have. She doesn't think she's going to like whatever the answer is. 

To her surprise, Spike doesn't say anything right away. He reaches out and runs his hand down over her hair, which as a romantic gesture -- and it can't be, because he doesn't feel that way about her, right? -- falls kind of flat, since it's all wet and straggly. "Guess I wanted to," he says. 

"Why?" Dawn knows then that she's never going to learn to keep her stupid mouth shut. 

"Look, we should get some sleep," Spike says, and instead of feeling grateful that he's changing the subject, Dawn feels almost disappointed. "You don't get enough rest, you're gonna get sick." 

She looks at him, and he's the one who looks tired. Dawn wonders if he's sleeping, if vampires get sick when they don't get enough sleep, and what she'd do without him. "You sleep here," she says impulsively, liking the thought of him sleeping there on her cot for once. Maybe it will end up smelling kind of like him -- that would be nice. She slides down onto his nest of blankets before he can say no. "Anyway, they say change is good, right?" 

"Who does?" At least he's not having a big spaz about it. 

"I don't know. People who know about stuff like that. Um... psychiatrists. Doctors?" 

"People you pay to redecorate your house every other year," Spike grumbles, but he lies down on the cot anyway. "Fill up their sodding bank accounts with your hard-earned cash." 

"Right. Because you've always worked really hard for your money." Dawn almost laughs at him, but she's kind of tired too. 

"You think it's not hard work hitting up people when they step away from the ATM machine?" Spike shifts his weight onto his back, and he has to lift his butt up to do it. Dawn is instantly reminded of how he'd been sleeping before and how she'd touched him, and she feels a flush creeping up over her cheeks. 

"Night, Spike," she says, turning away so that he can't see and pulling one of the blankets up over her. 

She's asleep before she hears his reply, unless he's already asleep too. 

* * *

Dawn's sleep schedule is getting more and more strange, or maybe more and more normal, depending how you look at it. It's like her body just wants her to sleep at night instead of in the daytime. Over the past few weeks, she's been feeling tired around the time Peter usually goes to sleep, but she mostly gets a kind of second wind and stays up until morning. But now that's getting harder to do, and she's falling asleep before the sun even comes up. 

So anyway, that's why she's having an actual breakfast with Peter this morning instead of sleeping, when Spike crashed like two hours ago. It's kind of nice to eat with someone else who actually eats -- Spike doesn't anymore. When Dawn asked him why not, he said shortly that the food supply was going to be enough of a problem without him eating when he didn't technically need to. Since he doesn't get any nutrition from anything but blood, Dawn guesses that makes sense, but it's still been kind of lonely always eating on her own, or when Spike's sucking down some gross pint of blood that Peter got from somewhere she doesn't even want to think about. 

There's something about instant oatmeal that makes her feel like she's about ten years old again. "This is good," she says, taking another bite. "You could be, like, a chef." 

"Because I can mix up packets of oatmeal with water?" Peter smiles at her. 

"I never said I couldn't be a chef too," Dawn tell him, then swallows what's in her mouth before sticking her tongue out at him. 

Peter makes a face that kind of reminds her of Xander, when she was being a dork and he was looking at her in that 'silly little kid' way. Weirdly, it doesn't bother her coming from Peter, maybe because she knows she's not just a little kid anymore. "Tomorrow I'll have to make something more complicated, seeing how I get all kinds of compliments over oatmeal." 

"Too bad there aren't any eggs. For pancakes," Dawn says. She misses pancakes, funny shapes or rounds. "Is there something that substitutes for eggs?" 

Thinking about it, Peter eats the last bite of his oatmeal and pushes the little bottle of juice he got for Dawn over closer to her. "Drink that," he says. "I don't know. I'll look for a good cookbook or something -- there must be something we could use." 

She opens the juice and drinks some -- it's some icky tropical fruit blend or something, but she knows that there aren't a lot of things she can do to keep herself healthy these days, so she might as well drink the stupid juice even if it's gross. "What about chickens?" 

"Chickens?" 

"They're these birds," Dawn explains mock-patiently, trying to hide a grin. "They live in farmyards, and they lay eggs." 

Peter gets up and throws both of their oatmeal bowls into the trash bag in the corner of the room. "I know what chickens are," he says. 

"Well, maybe we could get some?" 

"I thought you said they live on farms." 

"Well they could live down here instead," Dawn says. "We could, like, build a little fence for them or something, down at the end of the hallway?" 

Peter shakes his head, but she doesn't think he's really saying no. "Do you have any idea how much chickens smell? The whole place would reek." 

She hadn't thought of that. "Oh." 

"Besides, I don't know if they'd even lay any eggs down here. Animals need certain things to reproduce." 

"We could get a rooster too?" 

Peter sits back down, playing with the cap from her bottle of juice. He spins it, watches it until it runs out of momentum and shivers its way down onto the tabletop to lie still. "That's not what I meant. I don't think they'd do any good without sunshine." 

Dawn thinks about that for a minute, wondering if it applies to people too. Not that there are a lot of people left, probably, but there must be some, somewhere. "What about people?" she asks, not even knowing she's going to. 

"People don't lay eggs," Peter says, with a little smile that lets her know that she can change her mind, back out of the conversation if she needs to. 

She doesn't. "No, I mean... what about people reproducing?" 

"What about them?" His voice is gentle. 

"Do you think that's why...?" Dawn can't ask the end of the question, even though she wants -- needs -- to hear the answer. 

"Women lose pregnancies all the time," Peter says. He's just rolling the bottle cap between his fingers now, not spinning it. "There are lots of reasons. Sometimes the woman's body is under too much stress to handle it. Sometimes there's something wrong with the fetus -- and again, there are lots of reasons for that. There's no way to know for sure." 

"What if there were doctors and stuff. Would they have been, you know... able to tell?" 

Peter shakes his head, just once. "I don't think so. It was still really early on. Lots of times women lose babies that they didn't even know they were carrying, when it happens so quick like that. They don't even know they're pregnant." 

"You'd think the whole throwing up thing would help them figure it out," Dawn says. "So... you don't think it was because I didn't... want it?" It's stupid to feel guilty about it, she knows that, but she kind of can't help it. 

He gets up and comes around the table, then crouches down, looking at her face to face. It makes her a little uncomfortable, but at the same time it's kind of nice. It makes her feel like he cares. "It's not your fault. And you shouldn't feel bad about having taken those pills, either. Wishing doesn't make things happen." 

Dawn's not totally sure that's true, because isn't that -- sort of -- what magic is? But she doesn't want to think about that. "What about... do you think I'm okay?" She's been worrying about it, which again -- stupid, because it's not like it matters. It's not like she's going to find some guy and settle down and have a family. Right? 

"I'm sure you are." Peter reaches out, but he doesn't touch her face, just rests his hand on her arm for a few seconds. "But we can talk about it any time. And if you have questions, I could get you some books. If that would help reassure you." 

"Um... yeah. Thanks." She's kind of embarrassed now, but Peter's cool and gets back up, going over to the little table that's next to the stove and coming back with a pad of paper and a pen. 

He pushed them across to her. "I can probably get anything you want. Maybe not right away though, so you might want to think ahead." 

Dawn wonders if this is like a subtle way of asking if she wants tampons, which yeah, she's going to need sooner or later. She blushes harder as she remembers the big bulky pads she'd had to wear for the first week or so after the miscarriage, and the knowledge that someone -- probably Spike -- must have been changing them for her when she was unconscious. Unless they were just letting her lie there and bleed on a towel or something, which ew. Okay, not thinking about that anymore. 

Quickly, she scribbles down a few essentials, then adds lip gloss and hand lotion to the list. It's weird how everything seems so dry here. "Oh!" she says, suddenly thinking of something. "There is one thing. But it's not for me." 

Peter gets this weird hesitant look on his face, but only for a second. He sits back down and nods. "Okay. Tell me what you want, and I'll see what I can do." 

* * *

It's pissing Spike off is what it's doing. The little glances back and forth between them, and the way Dawn giggles like she's doing something she shouldn't be. Not that he hasn't known for a long time that she's got as much potential as her sister ever had to break his heart, no matter how much he didn't want to admit it to himself. Ironic, that -- how he can tell other people the things they're keeping from themselves, but still manage to hide stuff from himself. 

She's been sleeping different hours lately, and that rubs him the wrong way too. Oh, he knows it's better for her, being up when the sun's shining, but that doesn't mean it's any easier, her spending more time with Peter and less with him. 

Spike still doesn't trust Peter, and he's starting to think he never will. That's a problem -- a real one that's gonna have to be dealt with, because it won't be good for any of them in the long run, the three of them together if they can't get to some kind of understanding. 

He thinks Peter wants her. Knows it, deep down in his marrow, like he knows that the sun's gonna set in the next twenty minutes. Closer to instinct than anything else. 

And it's not the age thing that bothers him, what with him wanting the Bit himself. He's a good hundred-plus years older than Peter, after all. 

Spike tells himself that if Dawn wants Peter, he won't stand in the way. 

He knows it's a lie, though. 

Strolls into the room all casual-like, lights a fag and grins a quick greeting. It's a baring of teeth, something Peter probably doesn't recognize for what it really is. "Moved on from cribbage?" 

Dawn's choking back giggles. "It's 'Trivial Pursuit,'" she explains. "It's all these questions, and then you get pie pieces." 

Spike raises an eyebrow and looks at the table they're both sitting at. "Pie?" 

"Not _actual_ pie," Dawn says, then collapses onto the table, her hair covering her face as her shoulders shake helplessly with laughter. 

Peter holds up a little circular disk. "Different categories get different colors," he explains. "When you get a question right, you get a little wedge of plastic that fits into here." 

"What kind of questions?" 

Still giggling, Dawn straightens up and reaches for a little blue-edged card. "Like this: What's the most frequently-broken bone in the body? That one's Science and Nature." 

"Collarbone," Spike says automatically, gesturing at his own with a thumb. "Snaps just like a drumstick, you put enough pressure on it." Too late, he realizes that this isn't the kind of talk Peter likes to hear, and then the realization pisses him off more because he shouldn't have to _care_ what Peter wants. Fuck Peter. He takes another long drag on his cigarette. "Well, go on then. Play." 

Dawn's giggling trickles off into nothing finally as she and Peter take turns rolling the die and asking each other questions off the little cards. The game's hopelessly out of date, and Dawn only has one piece in her pie pan or whatever the hell it is to Peter's four. 

"I think Spike should be on my team," Dawn says, after Peter gets another right answer. 

"Two against one?" Peter raises an eyebrow, but it doesn't really seem like he's saying no. 

"Well it's not like I was actually around when any of this stuff happened," Dawn complains. "I mean, I think this game came out before I was even born." 

Spike finishes his fag and goes over to stub it out in the bowl he uses as an ashtray, which got moved over to one of the side tables to make room for the game. "I don't mind," he says, turning one of the two empty chairs around backward and straddling it. "Don't know that I'm going to be that much help, but..." 

"You knew that broken bone one," Dawn says loyally, pushing a box of cards over toward him until it's in a place they can both reach it. "Here, you read the next one." 

He takes a card out, glances at the board to see which color Peter's piece is resting on, then reads, "What Orson Welles radio play opened in the Meridian Room of the Hotel Park Plaza?" 

Peter sits back in his chair, and there's a funny little smile on his face. "War of the Worlds," he says, smug and self-satisfied. "This isn't all that different, is it?" 

"Pretty different, if you ask me. Then again, could be I'm on the side of the bad guys, if that's the way you want to look at it." Spike tosses the card down onto the table, and it slides smoothly over toward Dawn, who picks it up, turning it over in her fingers. She looks unsettled -- knows they're talking about more than what she understands, but doesn't quite get it. Spike's not sure that's a bad thing. 

"What's War of the Worlds?" she asks. 

"A radio show about aliens taking over the earth," Peter says, since Spike's just as happy to let him do the explaining. "People who were listening to it when it first aired thought it was real, that it was the news and not fiction." 

"Oh." Dawn seems to mull that over for a few seconds, and Spike thinks he can see the moment she realizes what that has to do with their own situation. "That'd be nice," she says finally. "I mean, if we found out none of this was real?" 

Spike waits for Peter to say something reassuring, what with him being the king of warm happy thoughts and all, but Peter just sits there. So Spike smacks his hand down on the tabletop, then gestures with an open hand at Peter. "Your turn to read a question, mate." 

"We have to roll first," Dawn says, picking up the die and doing it, then moving their stupid fucking pie plate. Who the hell thought this game up anyway, a pastry chef? "Arts and Literature." She looks at Peter expectantly. 

Peter picks up a card. "What was the name of Scarlett O'Hara's mansion?" 

Oh, bloody hell, if that isn't just what Dawn doesn't need to hear. 

"I don't know," she says, glancing at him. 

"Tara," Spike says, because if he doesn't say it, Peter will, and it might as well come from him. 

"What?" Dawn's voice is soft, stunned. 

"The name of the mansion. Tara," Spike repeats, watching as her eyes get bright with tears. 

She stands up. "Why do we always have to play these stupid games?" she asks, sounding about twelve years old. Without another word, she leaves the room. 

"Okay," Peter says. He's still holding the card in his hand. "Am I missing something?" 

"One of her friends," Spike says shortly. Not like he wants to get into a long explanation. 

Peter takes this in, then says, "Shit." It's the first time Spike's heard him swear. He starts to pack up the game. 

"Don't get rid of it," Spike says. "She's just a girl yet. You throw it out, she might turn around tomorrow and ask how you could have done something so cruel as to toss her favorite game in the whole world." 

They exchange a smile over the fickle ways of teenaged girls. 

"Aren't you going to..." Peter asks, after another minute. 

"What?" 

The other man looks at him in what might be exasperation. "Go and see if she's okay?" 

"Thought she might want a few minutes on her own," Spike says, getting up. He doesn't need this bloke to tell him how to comfort her, that's for sure. "You going out tomorrow?" 

"Yeah. You need more cigarettes?" 

"Always." 

He goes to find Dawn. 

She's not in the storage room that's also sort of their bedroom -- and that's the first time Spike realizes how that's a bit odd, that that's where they sleep. Dawn shouldn't be sleeping in there with the boxes and cans and shelving -- she should have a real bedroom, somewhere with curtains on the windows and a big soft bed. Fresh flowers. 

Cursing himself for a fool, Spike turns and keeps looking. 

When he finds her, she's shut herself in the bathroom. He can go into the room itself, but she's locked in one stall. 

"You all right, Bit?" he asks. 

"Don't call me that," Dawn says, sniffling. He can hear her pulling off a wad of paper and scrubbing her face with it. 

"Dawn," he says, gently. "You all right?" 

"No," she says. "I mean, yes." 

Spike's not sure which one she means. He's not sure she knows. "Come on out." 

She sniffles again. "No. I like it in here." 

All right, maybe this is going to take a while. He leans against one of the low sinks -- wondering, not for the first time, if this was a school for midgets, since everything seems too short -- and examines his knuckles. It's not for show, since he's pretty sure Dawn's not watching him. More to give himself something to do, something to look at. "Nice view, is that it?" Come to think of it, he's never actually been in there. 

"Yeah." Another sniffle. Then, almost a minute later, "Someone wrote a poem." 

"Really? What's it say?" 

Hesitantly, Dawn reads, "My mom is mean, my dad is dumb, my little brother sucks his thumb." 

_Daft_ midgets, Spike thinks, revising his earlier theory. "Can't say it's a shame that one's probably long dead. Would have made a bloody awful poet." 

"You think?" 

"I know." Spike's fingernails have dirt underneath. He never understands how that happens -- not like he's been spending any time outside, the past few weeks. Where's the sodding dirt come from? 

There's the slight sound of metal on metal, faint creak, and then Dawn comes out of the stall. Her face is blotchy, her eyes reddened with tears, and Spike can't take his eyes off her. It's like whatever power was in her, that came from being the Key or from what the monks had done to create her human form, is still there, still shining through. She's as beautiful as Buffy ever was, and he's struck by the urge to tell her so. But he doesn't. "You okay?" he asks instead. 

She nods and wipes at her eyes. "Sorry. I didn't think some stupid game -- but..." Dawn shifts her weight, sticks her hands into the back pockets of her jeans, a pose Spike thinks is supposed to look casual but just emphasizes her curves to the point of distraction, gorgeous rounded breasts and tiny waist. "It's not the game's fault," she says. "I just... I miss her, you know?" 

"Yeah. Me too." He's surprised that it's true. Not that he hated the witch or anything -- he liked her well enough. But he hadn't realized he'd gotten attached to so many of them. 

"I dream about them sometimes," Dawn continues. "Just stupid stuff, like Willow and Tara making dinner with the radio on -- remember how they used to, like, do that thing where they bumped their hips together? And Xander and Giles arguing about whether pepperoni was an affront to nature?" She smiles at him, all tremulous lips and wide eyes, and Spike slides a hand around the back of her neck and pulls her in close against him. 

She gives a little sigh and presses closer, the heat of her soaking through his clothes and into his own skin, warming him. Reassuring him. "We'll be okay," Spike tells her. 

"I know." She doesn't sound convinced. 

"Should think about getting some games that don't make you cry, though." 

Dawn laughs. It's not a real laugh, not quite, but it's better than nothing. "Yeah. At least Peter's good at finding stuff." 

Hearing Peter's name makes Spike hold her closer, but that just means that his body responds accordingly, getting ideas that it shouldn't be having, not about her. Bad enough that he kissed her a few days ago, not to mention the time when he woke up touching her. This, he shouldn't do. 

Fuck it. He wants to. 

He tilts Dawn's face up to meet his and kisses her, letting his hardening cock push against her warm thigh, feeling her mouth open against his eagerly. Her hands around the back of his waist clutch at him, small but sturdy, strong, not shoving him away but drawing him nearer. 

"Tell me to stop," Spike murmurs, kissing her again. 

"No." Her breath's warm too, moving over his lips. 

"Bit..." He has to correct himself. "Dawn..." It's not as simple as a request. It might be a warning. 

"I don't want you to stop." She presses herself against him more firmly to illustrate, and he has to stifle a groan. His left hand's tangled in the hair at the nape of her neck. Then her voice, small again, says, "Um, yeah. Actually, stopping would be good." 

Spike pulls back at once, not letting go of her, but needing to see the look on her face. "I'm stopping," he says, reassuring. "You say the word, it's yours. You know that." 

Dawn's smile is brilliant. "Good. I mean, I like it. But not in the gross icky bathroom." 

She moves her body slightly again, and he feels his cock harden further. "You sure?" 

"That I don't want to make out with you in the bathroom? Yes." Dawn grins and stretches up onto her toes to plant another quick kiss onto his lips. 

"Look, maybe we should think about this some more. Talk about it." Thinking and talking are two of the last things Spike wants to do, but the very last is to pressure Dawn into something she's going to regret. Especially with what happened to her before, especially considering he's the one that didn't get there in time to stop it. 

"What's there to talk about?" Uncertainly crawls in behind Dawn's eyes, something he doesn't like the look of. "I mean... do you... like kissing me?" 

"Are you completely insane? 'Course I do." 

"Then why the big conversation?" Her hand's still got hold of the back of his waistband, twisting there. 

Spike uses his right thumb to trace her sweet bottom lip. "Because I don't want you doing anything you don't want. And sometimes, in the moment, it's hard to know what that is." 

"Because of hormones?" Dawn raises one eyebrow -- when the bloody hell'd she learn to do that? -- and then rolls her eyes, a collection of teenaged weapons being drawn all at once. "Spike... I know what I'm doing." 

Self-assured, that's his Bit. "Good. Then all that's left is for you to convince me of that." 

She frowns. "How am I supposed to do that?" 

"You're a smart girl," Spike tells her, letting go of her by sheer force of will he didn't even know he had and stepping back, putting some space between them. "You'll figure it out." 

Turning and walking away is the hardest thing he's had to do since all this started. 

* * *

So of course when Spike gets up the next night they're at it again. He can hear Dawn's giggle in the next room, even through the heavy stone walls, and he can tell she's whispering something excitedly. Can't hear the actual words, can't make them out, but it's enough to pull him up out of bed and drag him, still bleary eyed with sleep, out of the storage room and into the living area. 

There's a scuffle, and as he reaches the doorway Dawn whirls back around with that trying-to-look-innocent expression on her face. She's hiding something behind her, or trying to. "Spike! Hi." 

"Hi," he says slowly, his eyes going from her to Peter and back again. "Something going on?" 

"No! I mean, no." Dawn glances at Peter, and a little giggle escapes her again. 

Sod this. It's just after dark, and he's hungry. Last thing he needs to do is hang around here watching the two of them play their little games. "I'm going out," Spike says, and turns away, toward the front barricade. 

"No, wait," Dawn says. 

He doesn't want to wait. He's bloody sick of waiting. " _No_ , I'm going out," he says, still heading for the gates. 

She's coming after him, and any other time he'd be flattered, hell, he'd be thrilled. But not tonight. Tonight he just wants to get away from her for a bit, long enough to remember himself again, and when he feels her fingers touch his sleeve, he whirls around and knocks her hand away. 

"What part of 'I'm going out' did you not understand?" Spike's voice is raised, and his arm's still up, not threatening, just... frustrated. 

Dawn blinks, startled. "But..." Her face closes in, goes from open and eager to flat and disgusted like someone flicked a switch, and she crosses her arms in front of her. "Fine. Never mind." 

It's that, the sullen tone behind her words, that makes him sigh. "Look, sometimes a bloke gets pissed off when he's hungry. It's nothing to do with you." 

"I'm the one you're yelling at," she says, still flat. "How does that not have anything to do with me?" 

Spike grimaces. He's no good at this. "Sorry," he says, and he wonders if he actually sounds sorry at all. He's not sure he feels it. 

Then Peter's in the doorway to the living area behind her, clearing his throat, and Dawn turns to look at him. She goes over and takes the bag Peter's holding from him, then stalks forward and thrusts it into Spike's arms. "There," she says. "It's a new jacket. Wear or don't. I don't care." 

That's clearly a lie, and Spike reaches for her hand, her sleeve, something. But she's already started back for the storage room, radiating the kind of dark sharp sulkiness that Dru never quite managed, what with being insane and all. Giving Peter a look of utter frustration, he follows her, bloody sick of the melodrama and just about ready to shake some sense into her one way or another. 

She's standing in the far corner of the room, where a tiny sliver of sunshine lies across the floor during daylight hours. Now there's nothing, just the pale light of the low watt bulb that the generator provides. 

Nothing but him and Dawn. 

Spike bends down and sets the bag on the floor, still not having done more than glanced at the jacket, and goes over to her, his irritation in the moment allowing him to disregard anything he's told himself about treating her gently, about being a man. He grabs onto her shoulder and spins her around. 

"Look," he says, doing his best not to leave bruises on her. "I know this is hell. Losing your friends, being..." He can't get the word out, has to go with another one, "violated the way you were, having to be here. But we're stuck with it. With each other. So it's time to grow up and stop with these bloody temper tantrums." 

"You want me to grow up?" Dawn asks, still looking down at the floor. 

"Well, pretend at least," Spike says, just about growling in his frustration. 

"You could pretend to look at your jacket," she says, her eyes flashing as she gestures at it. "You know, pretend you're a grown up and you appreciate it." 

He's not sure she's going to shut up about the bloody jacket until it looks at it, so he lets go of her and goes over, up-ends the paper bag over the cot, spilling the thing out onto the rumpled covers in a leathery slither like a big snake. He holds it up, the thickness of it heavy in his hands, familiar and yet different. It still has that new-leather smell to it -- something his old duster had lost most of long ago, something he only got faint whiffs of now and then when it'd get ripped and crushed. 

This one's not black, more a rich brown, but that's the biggest difference. It's not quite as long as the duster was, narrower through the shoulders, like it might fit him better, especially with the weight he's lost over the past weeks. 

"Put it on," Dawn says, and her voice sounds funny. 

"Right." He shrugs into it, feels it settle down, almost comforting. He adjusts the collar, runs his hands down across his chest, feeling the smooth supple leather mold itself to him, then glances up at her. "How's it look?" 

Dawn's eyes are soft, and there's a little smile on her lips. "Good," she says. And that's when she surprises him, moves in and grabs onto the front of the jacket with both hands, kisses him. 

Could get used to surprises like this. 

"It looks good," she says again when she pulls back to look at him. "It looks, you know... sexy." She's blushing, that faint crawl of dusty pink into her cheek that makes him hard in a different way than kissing. 

Something hits Spike then, realization of how bloody stupid he can be sometimes. "This is why you've been whispering?" he asks, meaning the jacket. "You were making plans to get me this." 

"Uh-huh." Dawn traces down the front of his shirt with one fingertip, delicate. "Actually that's the third one he brought back. I didn't like the other two." 

Great, Spike thinks. Way to endear me to the bloke, keep sending him out into the danger zone to find me clothes. But it's not the sort of thing he'd say to her, and anyway, now her fingertip's moving lower, right down to the front of his jeans, and that's got his attention good and proper. "Dawn..." 

"Shh," she says. "I want to look." 

The door's open -- not that Spike cares if Peter sees _him_ naked, but Dawn, that's a different story. 'Course, Peter saw more of her parts than she'd probably have liked when she was sick, but... 

His thoughts get derailed when Dawn undoes the button on his jeans and slowly slides down the zipper. She glances up at him, eager and anxious in one. "Can I look?" 

This sure as hell isn't a situation in which he could say 'no' to her. "Yeah." Then he sees that her hands are shaking, and he catches them in his own. "Bit... _Dawn_. You don't have to do this now. Maybe it's too soon." 

"No, I want to," she says stubbornly, but she lets him kiss her again, slow this time, drawing it out until she's trembling with something other than fear, and then her hand slides inside his jeans, the soft tips of her fingers brushing against his swollen aching flesh, and he groans softly. 

Dawn glances up at him like she's trying to reassure herself that this is okay. "Tell me if I do it wrong," she says. "I mean, I never..." 

"Not much you can do wrong," Spike says, trying to keep his voice steady as her little hand wraps around his cock, all warm and gentle. He shoves his jeans down some, just enough so he won't get caught on the zipper, so that it's easier for her. She's not stroking, just sort of holding him, but even that feels so bloody good it's just about killing him. "Just do whatever you want, and nothing you don't." 

She lets go, but his cock stays standing just about straight up, it's so hard at the idea of having the attention of someone's hand other than his own. Her palm slides up his shaft, cupping it softly, and then over the exposed head. She touches the little hole in the tip, makes a funny face as the end of her finger comes away slick, rubbing the clear fluid between her fingers. "Is this okay?" she asks, looking up at him again. 

"S'fine," he says, trying to reassure her. "I won't do anything to hurt you. You know that?" He doesn't know how far she wants this to go, and he's determined not to do anything to scare her. 

"I know." Dawn's voice is gentle too, just like the touch of her hands. She traces three fingers down to the base of his cock, then lower, testing the weight of his balls. His cock twitches, and she glances up with a little smile. "Is it okay?" she asks again. "I mean... does it feel good?" 

Spike nods. "Yeah, it feels good. You okay?" 

Dawn rolls her eyes at him. "Yes, I'm okay. I'm not going to freak out just because I'm looking at your guy parts." 

He laughs softly. "Didn't think you would." Her hand wraps around him again, forcing another quiet groan from him. "God, Dawn..." 

"Shh," she says, using one hand on his cock and the other on his new jacket to tow him over toward the cot. When they're standing next to it, she looks up at him, doe-eyed and sure of herself. Her hair's loose and shining in the dimly lit room, and she strokes his cock gently, just once, before she says, "Take off my clothes?" 

Spike knows he should wait, give her more time to make sure this is what she wants, but he's so desperate for her that his hands don't care what his brain thinks. They're already at her waist, pushing up the little cotton shirt she's wearing, slow, marveling at how soft her skin feels. Warm. "You can change your mind any time," he says, even though he knows there might be a point where that stops being true. 

"I'm not going to," Dawn tells him, even as she shivers as he slides his hands higher, brushing the base of his thumbs against the underside of her breasts. 

"Want to take this off," Spike says, and does, pulling the shirt over her head and leaving her naked to the waist. One of her arms wraps around like she's trying to cover herself, and he bends to kiss her softly, one hand snaking around to the small of her back, hoping to soothe. "Can do this as slow as you want," he murmurs, nuzzling the delicate edge of her ear as he slides his other hand up her side, making her tremble and flush. 

She's got the most perfect breasts he's ever seen -- not big, but big enough, and even despite the fact that she's lost some weight since everything else ended. He cups one in his hand, rubbing his thumb over the taut little pinkish nipple while he keeps kissing her. And she shivers and makes little sounds in the back of her throat that just about drive him mad, and her own hand's still feeling his cock. More like exploring than proper wanking, but that's just as well since otherwise he'd be off like a rocket by now. 

Kisses her again, open-mouthed and with tongue this time. Then Spike drops down onto his knees, taking her wrists in his grip, but gentle, so she knows she can get away if she needs to. He kisses the tip of each breast, licks each nipple, then takes one between his lips and suckles at it. 

Dawn trembles. He can hear her breath hitching like she's not sure what to do. "Spike," she says. "Spike..." And it might be the sweetest thing he's ever heard. 

* * *

Dawn's shaking, but she thinks maybe it doesn't show. She hopes maybe it's like an internal kind of shaking, the kind that's the deep down and from a whole bunch of things at once, including excitement and nervousness and, okay, maybe some freakage in there too. Because this is new, this part where the guy is trying to make her feel good. 

Spike's on his knees in front of her, and his hands are on her waist. And that's a good thing, because she's not sure she'd still be standing up otherwise. 

His mouth is on her breast, licking and sucking, and it feels way better than anything her own hand has ever done. Wet, kind of an aching pull that goes down through her to somewhere low in her belly, and she can feel herself getting wet between her legs too, like somehow everything's connected. 

She's trying to breathe, but it's getting harder not to gasp. 

Spike pulls his mouth away for a second, looking up at her. His fingers come up and pinch gently at her nipple instead, rolling it, and that weak in the knees feeling is _so_ not going away soon. A little sound escapes her and she feels herself blush. "It's supposed to feel good," Spike says, like he thinks maybe she'd forgotten that part. "And it's okay to make noise, if you want to." 

Dawn isn't sure she wants to -- and she suddenly realizes that the door is open and that technically Peter could come in and see them, but then Spike's tongue is flicking over her other nipple and she moans a little bit. 

"That's it," Spike says, encouragingly. "Let yourself feel it, love." And god, she wants to. She wants him to take away everything bad that happened and make things okay again. 

Dawn closes her eyes when she feels Spike's hands undoing her jeans. 

Then, "Look at me," he orders, and she does. "You get scared, or I do anything you don't like, you tell me, right?" 

"You said that already. Like three different ways," she says. 

"Yeah, well... just so you know." And then he's pulling down her pants. They go down easily because she's lost a little bit of weight now, but her panties are still a good smooth fit. 

When he brushes his fingers over them, right where her clit is, Dawn gasps. No one's ever touched her there, not like that -- well, no one that wasn't her \-- and it's so different. She didn't realize it would be so different. 

She's cooperative when Spike helps her take her jeans off the rest of the way, and then she forgets to try to cover her almost-nakedness with her arms because she's too busy watching him shrug off his new duster and pull off his shirt and jeans. Then he eases her back down onto the mat where he sleeps. The blankets are kind of rumpled and there's a pillow under her head that smells, okay, just a little bit funky, but somehow that makes it okay. It makes it more real than if they were in some perfect bedroom with a huge bed and satin sheets or whatever. Because this isn't some porn movie. It's her. And Spike. 

It's real. 

Dawn doesn't protest when Spike goes back to kissing her and playing with her nipples -- it feels so good, plus she's kind of distracted by touching him too. His chest is smooth and pretty soft actually -- the skin at least. Underneath that he's all hard, muscles that are wiry. There are places she thinks she can feel the tendons and bones, too. 

His cock is distracting. He's lying next to her, and it's pressed up against the outside of her thigh, like it's trying to tell her something. She's kind of surprised that she's not scared of it, but for whatever reason she's not. It's fine. 

Spike's hand slides down over her stomach, then his fingertips slip under the edge of her cotton panties. "You're so beautiful," he says, right next to her mouth. "Never wanted anyone the way I want you." 

His words make her even wetter, even though she thinks that they can't be true. After all, he was totally in love with Buffy. He must have thought about her like this. He even made the Buffybot so that he could, well, do things to her, to Buffy, or pretend that he was. But it's not hard to push those thoughts away, not while he's sliding his fingers down between her legs and touching her. Not while he's kissing her and licking the inside of her mouth and calling her 'love.' 

She's been in love with him for a long time. For now, she wants to pretend like he could love her back. 

His finger slips down lower and pushes into her, into her cunt, and Dawn trembles in surprise. It feels good -- the only other thing that's ever been in there has been tampons, and those guy's cocks, but she's not thinking about them right now. She's only thinking about Spike and how his finger is inside her, moving a little bit kind of back and forth. 

"All right?" he asks, and she can only make a little sound that she hopes sounds like 'yes.' 

Spike's cock is pushing harder against her thigh in small movements. He kisses her again, then moves his mouth down to her breast, licking her nipple with the flat of his tongue like a cat. And his finger is sliding in and out of her, and his thumb is right over her clit, little fluttering presses. She can feel that tightening, that she's going to come, but she doesn't know how to do that with someone else touching her. She whimpers a little bit. 

"That's my girl," Spike says. "Come on, then." Then he sucks hard on her nipple, and she can feel her body shaking, and his hand doesn't stop moving until it's over. 

It's so good. 

Spike kisses her some more, on the mouth, long and slow, and it turns out she likes this whole tongue kissing thing. A lot. Then he takes off her panties and eases up over her, between her legs, and his cock is resting against the inside of her thigh now, still all hard and maybe kind of sticky. And Dawn realizes that she actually wants to know what it will feel like inside her. 

"Not gonna hurt you," Spike says soothingly between kisses. "You tell me to stop any time." 

But Dawn doesn't want him to stop, and maybe the one good thing that came from before is that she actually knows how this works, how to spread her legs so he can do it. 

The tip of his cock rubs against her, right near where it's supposed to, and she's so wet that she can feel it get slippery. "It's okay," she says, and slides a tentative hand down his back to his ass. That seems to give him the message that it really _is_ okay, and he pushes in a little bit. 

It doesn't hurt at all -- actually, it feels totally good, and she moans and spreads her legs farther apart, wanting more. Wanting him to go deeper, or something. Something more. "Spike," she whimpers. 

Spike pushes harder, then pulls back out and goes in again. It seems like her being, well, turned on is what makes the difference between it hurting or not -- she can't imagine, right now, how this could hurt, because it's just slipping skin on skin, wet and slick and pushing, pushing. 

He kisses her again, doesn't stop even though he's moving too. "That's my girl," he says again, his thumb rubbing over her nipple, his words warm against her lips. "God, Dawn, you're so good. Such a good girl." 

Dawn can tell this is how it's supposed to be -- and she closes her eyes and arches her body against Spike's, thinking that maybe she could come again just from this, from his cock rubbing on her most sensitive parts. 

"God, yeah," Spike groans, thrusting faster. He moves back onto his knees, with both his hands strong on her hips, holding her up while he pushes into her. She moans as the new angle changes the way it feels, making her ache. "You okay?" he asks, but his voice sounds strained and funny. 

"Good," she says, and her own voice sounds weird too. "I'm good." She's also really close to coming again, and maybe Spike can see that on her face or something, because he rubs both his thumbs over the bony part of her hips and moves faster, deeper. She can feel it starting there, where his cock is, and then traveling up to her clit and out, like watching ice forming from the condensation on a window, crawling and creeping, only warm. Dawn trembles. "Spike. I'm..." 

This time her orgasm is both less intense and deeper, which doesn't make sense, but it's true. She can feel her body clenching around Spike's cock, holding onto him, and he lets out a low groan and comes, his hands tighter on her hips as he thrusts through it. It feels... familiar, only better. 

Then he collapses down on top of her, and she's glad he's not a huge guy because this way it just feels nice, safe. She pets the back of his shoulder and kisses his ear, which is basically the only part of him she can kiss without really moving. 

After a minute, he gets up, his softer cock sliding out of her, and Dawn sighs in contentment and regret that it's over. But Spike just lies down next to her and pulls her into his arms, pressing kisses to her cheek and mouth and neck, cuddling her close. 

That might be the best part of all. 

* * *

He'd just gotten up for the night, so Spike doesn't fall asleep when Dawn does. Instead he lies there with an arm around her, his fingers tracing little designs on the small of her back, liking the way it feels to have her breath moving warm over his skin. 

Could get used to this. 

He stays there for a long time, holding her while she sleeps, thinking. Stuff he doesn't want to think about, like what Buffy'd say -- doesn't have any illusions on that front, she'd be livid and probably try to stake him first change she got. Then there's... well, more stuff he doesn't want to think about -- how he's gonna keep Dawn safe, for one. Where the bloody hell he's going to find a steady blood supply, for another -- the hunger's a constant now, gnawing at him. 

Spike barely notices when Peter comes into the storage room a little later, but he does notice when Peter stops moving. He looks up, and Peter's just standing there, staring at the two of them. Funny look on his face isn't much of a surprise, and Spike just meets his gaze steadily. There's no challenge in it, not now. Just acceptance, both of them knowing that the decision that needed to be made had been. 

Bloke gets whatever he came for and leaves again, and Spike closes his eyes and, telling himself he's not tired, drifts off to sleep. 

The dreams are on him in an instant, like they've been waiting. 

* * *

Dawn doesn't know what time it is when she wakes up \-- just that it's dark, and she's not wearing any clothes, and Spike's still holding her. She remembers what they did before she went to sleep, and then she hears Spike make a little sound like a whimper, and she realizes that's what woke her up. 

She turns so she can look at him. He's so... okay, handsome doesn't seem like the right word for it, it's more like pretty, not that he'd want to know that probably. But right now his forehead's all creased with worry lines, and he's twitching like he's trying to get away from something. 

Before she can do anything else, Spike sits up with a groan, one hand covering his face. He's shaking. 

Dawn sits up too and touches his arm, and he pulls away from her. Feeling bad, she stays there, her hand still stretched out, and after another second Spike glances at her. "Sorry," he says. 

"Are -- are you okay?" Dawn wants him to say 'yes.' 

He clears his throat and wipes his face, but doing that just makes it obvious that he was crying. "M'fine." 

But he doesn't look fine, and he doesn't sound fine either. Dawn wraps her arms around him and holds on, and after a minute he relaxes into her embrace, resting his head on her shoulder. "Shh," she says. "It's okay." 

It might not be true, but it sounds good. 

Spike turns a little bit more, lying both of them back down so that she's on her back and his ear is over her heart. "Like the way it sounds," he explains softly. 

"Were you... were you dreaming?" Dawn asks. 

"Yeah," he says. 

"What about?" 

Spike shakes his head a little bit, rolling it on her chest, and she runs her fingers through his hair. "Don't want to give you nightmares, too." 

So they just stay there, quiet, for a long time. 

* * *

Almost sunset. 

Spike's been pacing the hallway for the past half hour, waiting. It's been two days since he's had any blood, and that was just a couple of recently dead small animals that Peter had managed to bring back. Newly dead animal blood's a sorry substitute for the real thing. 

He lights another fag and paces the length of the hall again, clenching his empty fist and then letting it fall open repeatedly. 

Dawn'd been trying to distract him, to keep him company, and while he appreciates the sentiment, he'd had to send her off into the living room. Being near her is too great a temptation. He wants to throw her down and fuck her and feed from her all at once, and he isn't going to do that. Won't. 

Spike can smell her from here, even though most of a wall and probably a good twenty feet separate them. 

Or maybe less, as she appears in the doorway to the living area, her eyes wide and worried. "Are you sure I can't do anything?" 

"You can stay the bloody hell away from me," he snaps, and then glances up and sees her face, drawn, pale. He drops his cigarette to the floor and crushes it out with his boot. "Sorry. Sorry. Look, when I get back I'll be fine, so... just find something to do." 

"Okay," she says softly, and goes back to whatever she was doing. 

He wonders what Peter thinks of all this. Wonders if Peter would stake him, if it came right down to it. 

Spike hopes he would, but will never tell him that, because he suspects if he did he might wake up one afternoon with a piece of splintered wood to his chest and Peter standing over him. Suspects Peter's the type of bloke that would look at one kind of permission and extend it just as far as he could run with it. 

As the last rays are melting into the distance he's at the barricade, unlocking it with hands that tremble. Out. 

"I'm off," he calls, knowing that Peter will come and lock up behind him, keeping Dawn safe. Or so Spike hopes, but there's no other option now. 

He doesn't like that she's safer with Peter than with him when he's like this, but it's the truth. She's better off. 

He's out. 

The air smells good to him -- clean. Less pollution without all the cars and furnaces and factories, although he can catch a faint whiff of the gasoline Peter uses to power the generator even from here. New jacket's a bit stiff through the shoulders, but it'll loosen up, given a bit of time. 

Spike prowls, follows his nose and instincts that go so deep he's not sure they don't reach down into the earth. 

* * *

"Do you think he's okay?" Dawn asks again. It's maybe the third time. Okay, maybe the fourth. 

"This isn't the first time he's gone out," Peter says, looking up from his book. 

She's reading too, when she can manage to focus on the words. Spike hasn't gone out a lot, and every time it's been like this -- waiting, counting the minutes as they pass, needing to know that he's safe. She doesn't know what she'd do if Spike didn't come back. Peter's nice -- she likes him -- but she doesn't want to spend the rest of her life with him, even if it's short. Plus... Peter goes out too. What if it was just her and Peter, and then Peter went out and _he_ never came back? She'd be all alone. 

Dawn takes a deep breath and lets it out quietly. Spike's going to come back. He has to. 

Peter must be able to tell how freaked she is, because he tries to start a conversation. "What are you reading?" 

She picks up the book and tilts it so he can see the cover. "This women's reproductive health thing you brought me." 

He nods. "Any good?" 

Considering the question, Dawn turns the book back around so she can look at it. "I guess? I mean, it sort of seems like... not very real." 

"In what way?" 

"Well, it's not like I'm probably ever going to have a gynecological exam, so... most of it's just... history." She almost blushes saying 'gynecological' even though it's a matter of fact kind of thing. "You know. Stuff that used to happen." 

"Some of it," Peter agrees. "But not all." 

She's quiet for a long time, running her fingers over a freaky color photograph of a fetus in the womb. "Do you think...?" 

Peter waits. Then he says, "What?" 

"Never mind." 

"No, go ahead. What?" 

Dawn's so afraid of sounding stupid. "I mean... it'd be crazy to bring a baby into a world like this. Right?" Her finger traces over one of the baby's tiny transparent hands. 

"I'm sure there are people having babies," Peter says carefully. "Women who were pregnant when it happened. Women who are getting pregnant now." 

"Yeah, but... not on purpose." 

Peter sets his book down and just looks at her. "Wanting to have a baby -- for a lot of women, it's something they feel drawn to. It's not about what makes sense, or what might be the best idea... they need it. It's biological, and in women that means hormones. Your hormones don't care if the world isn't as good a place to raise children as it used to be... they just want you to make babies." 

She looks down at the photo again, then back up at him. "So it's, like... normal?" It's not like she should really be all that worried about being normal -- it's not like the kids in school are going to give her a hard time, plus she's got that whole former-key thing going for her. But she also can't pretend she hasn't been thinking about it. Especially looking at this book, with the pictures of newborns and breastfeeding and everything. It makes her ache. It makes her sad for the baby that wasn't. 

Sometimes Dawn wonders if that baby was big enough to look like anything. If it had, she wishes she could have seen it. These thoughts make her feel sick, morbid, but she can't shut them out. 

"It's normal," Peter says. "Completely normal." 

"Vampires can't have babies," she says. She sounds more detached than she actually is, saying it. 

"That makes sense." 

"Yeah, because, you know," Dawn tries to rally. "There's not, like, anything.... living. Like sperm." 

Peter's looking at her like she suddenly grew another head or something, and it makes her feel really weird. 

"So I guess if a lot of the people -- sort of people \-- still walking around are vampires, and werewolves, and stuff -- " and it's not the first time, or probably the last, that Dawn's wondered if Oz is out there somewhere, still alive. "Then there aren't going to be a lot. Of babies." 

"That's true." Peter gets up and comes over near her, sitting down in the empty chair. "Do you want to?" 

It's not like she doesn't know what he's talking about. "Have a baby? Yeah, maybe. I mean, some day. Not right now." Actually, there's a part of her saying that right now would be good, but that's stupid. Spike can't make a baby, not with her, not with anyone. If she wanted to get pregnant... again... she'd have to find... 

Dawn lifts her eyes from the table to meet Peter's. 

"Oh," she says. 

Peter isn't trying to touch her. He's just sitting there, really calm. "If you wanted to, you have the opportunity," he says. He doesn't spell it out in words, but then, it's not like he has to. "Look, I'm not going to bring it up again. I just wanted you to know. It's totally up to you, and if it's too weird, then just forget I said anything." 

"Um... okay." She does feel weird, but there's so many layers to the weirdness that she doesn't even know how to start figuring it out. Instead of dealing with it, she fakes a yawn and stretches. "Wow, I'm really tired. I think I'm going to bed. Um... to lie down! To sleep." 

Retreating to the store room, Dawn curls up in what she already thinks of as their bed, wrapping herself around the pillow that smells faintly of cigarette smoke. She knows she won't be able to sleep until Spike is back and safe, but pretending that he's here is, like, the next best thing. 

She closes her eyes and tries not to think about anything at all. 

* * *

Spike's out all night. It's the first time he's been gone so long, and there's a little niggling thought that Dawn's probably worried, but once he starts feeding, he doesn't want to stop. It's too powerful. 

First he gets hold of another vamp about a mile from the school. Doesn't know how the bloke managed to survive so long, and so well-fed, but at that moment he couldn't care less. He drains him in what feel like the blink of an eye. It's never as good, feeding from another vamp, but it's a hell of a lot better than nothing, and by the time he lets the unconscious body fall to the ground Spike feels reenergized. 

He tracks another vamp and feeds from her too. He realizes that if these vamps are still around, they're either feeding off each other or, more likely, animals or humans. Which means there's more available blood than he'd been starting to think. 

It's possible that Peter's been holding out on him, but Spike doesn't think that's the case. Last thing a crafty bloke like Peter'd want would be to be trapped inside a locked barricade with a hungry vampire, not if there's a way to avoid it. 

Spike follows the scent of something warm and alive through one neighborhood and into another one. This one's nicer -- bigger houses, neater, even if quite a few of them are smashed up and the grass on the lawns looks more like weeds than anything else. 

Place looks deserted. It's not though. 

First thing he comes across is a dog with a litter of pups under the porch of a house. Spike knows that if he kills the mum he might as well take the puppies as well, since chances are good they won't survive without her anyway. They aren't newborn, but he thinks they're too young to manage on their own. 

Before he can do anything with them, though, he catches another scent -- and this one's human. 

He feels.... right, like he's slipped back into his own skin, as he stalks up onto the porch and breaks the door in with one shoulder. It takes almost no energy at all, flushed with the recent feeds as he is, and following the scent of living blood up the staircase is as easy as breathing used to be. 

One bedroom door is closed at the end of the hall -- the rest are open, and even if it hadn't been for that he'd have been able to smell her on the other side of the door, all rich and hot and waiting for him. No lock on the door -- Spike just shoves it open -- and the woman hasn't even tried to hide, she's just cowering against the far wall, all huge brown eyes and trembling lower lip. 

This is what he was made for. 

Slips into game face and gets hold of her -- she doesn't try to get away, but once his hands are on her she struggles, oh yes, delicious waves of terror rolling off of her. Hot and sweet in his mouth, flesh and blood, and as Spike feeds he thinks for one split second that maybe he can feel his heart beating. Or maybe it's just hers. Doesn't matter -- he barely registers the faint thud and fading whimper as her breath runs dry, as she goes from warm and tense to limp and rapidly cooling in his arms. 

He drops her to the floor and licks his lips. 

He won't think about the rest. This moment is his, and no one else's. 

Now that Spike's fed, he wants to fight. That or fuck, but he's not the sort to take his pleasure with a body already going cold on the floor, and at that moment he cares more about his freedom than about going back for Dawn. 

There's a nest of vamps a quarter mile away, and Spike finds them with little trouble. Kills two of them, briefly considers fucking the third before staking her too \-- because Dawn's cunt is hot and alive, not like this undead bitch's -- and feeds from the one boy they've got chained up in a corner. Kid's been there a while, no question \-- four bite marks on his throat, like the vamps had been torturing him, or maybe just trying to ration their meal \-- and doesn't put up any kind of a struggle. Just moans, soft and sweet, as Spike drains him. 

He spends another couple of hours on the outside, relishing the night air and the fresh blood coursing through him, before he realizes that he's been gone a long time. Ought to be getting back. 

It's not hard to retrace his steps, and he gets to the school a good twenty minutes before sunrise. Takes ten of those to smoke a couple of fags, then moves inside to the barrier. 

Peter's standing on the other side with a funny expression on his face, one Spike doesn't like the look of. 

"Thanks, mate," he says, as Peter reaches for the keys. "Good to have a night out." 

The bloke just stands there with the keys in his hand, jiggling them slightly, watching Spike as he does it. 

"Any day now," Spike tells him, narrowing his eyes. 

Peter's own are saying all sorts of things -- that he's the one with the upper hand. That he could refuse to let Spike in. (Not that that would matter, of course, because sooner or later they'd need supplies again, and Peter would have to unlock the barrier and come outside.) 

"Spike?" Dawn's voice, relieved and confused in one as she appears behind Peter. She glances at Peter, then takes the keys from his unprotesting hand and starts to unlock the barricade. 

"Had a good night?" Spike asks as he slips inside and starts to lock up again. 

"Yes. No. I was worried." He can tell by her tone of voice that it's the truth, but at this point he's more concerned about what the hell Peter thought he was up to. 

He turns to face the other man. "There something we need to talk about?" he asks. 

Peter looks at him for a long moment, then shakes his head. 

Spike punches him in the face, hard enough to knock him to the floor. Bloody hell, it feels good. He reaches down and hauls Peter back to his feet, both hands on his shirt front. "Never make the mistake of thinking you're the one in charge here, mate," he says. He might regret this later, but right now it's exactly what he needs to do. "We might need you, but that doesn't mean you get to make the calls." 

Pushing Spike away and stumbling backward, Peter wipes his hand across his mouth, where there's a tiny bit of blood caught in the corner. "Don't touch me again," he says, but it's a mild threat at best, and they both know it. 

Spike's the one in control. 

The knowledge -- the realization and remembrance of it, things that he's forgotten while trapped here in this cage -- makes him instantly hard, and he breathes in the scent of Dawn beside him, pale perfume like flowers and springtime. He needs her in lots of ways -- because of who she is, because he's in love with her -- but right now because his body wants her. 

Reaching out to take her little hand in his, Spike turns away from Peter without another word and starts down the hallway. 

It's very simple. He needs her, and he's going to have her. 

* * *

Almost before they're in the storage room Spike's kissing her, hard, ravaging her mouth and delighting in the warmth of her pliant body. Both his hands are on her breasts, over her top, kneading them, pinching her nipples, and she moans softly. Sounds goes right to his cock, not that he wasn't already hard and aching for her. 

"That's my girl," he says in a low voice, tangling one of his hands in her hair, holding her still so that he can kiss her again. 

He pushes her down onto the bed, unzipping her jeans and sliding his hand down inside the front of her little cotton knickers so he can touch her. She arches up against him, gasping. 

Spike thinks it'd be nice if he was convinced he'd stop if she wanted him to. 

Too bad he's not. 

He pulls Dawn's clothes off roughly while she watches him, unresisting. Takes off his own shirt, then reaches for her hand and holds it against the front of his jeans, letting her see how badly he wants her. 

His mouth moves down over her body, stopping at each breast before going lower to press wet open kisses to her stomach. She giggles, but the sound turns into another gasp when he moves still further down and flicks his tongue over her sweet little clit. Part of him wants to spend a long time tasting her, but his erection is more insistent, so instead he unfastens the front of his jeans and shoves them down just far enough, covers her body with his and pushes into her. 

Dawn makes a high-pitched sound -- not pain, he knows that sound well enough, this is more like relief and joy -- and trembles under him, all hot and tensed around his cock. 

"Christ you feel good," Spike breathes, sliding a hand back to cup her ass and pushing deeper. 

She just makes another sound and arches her body against his. "Spike..." 

"Good girl," he encourages her, sliding back out and then shoving in again. "Tell me you want me." Not that it matters, not in that moment, but he wants to hear it. 

Dawn whimpers on the next thrust, and Spike pulls her legs up over his shoulders so he can get as deep as possible.  
That makes her whimper again, but she doesn't answer. 

He reaches down and flicks a fingertip over her clit teasingly. "Tell me," he says. 

"I... I want you," she says. Her cheeks flush beautifully, pale pink suffusing down across her throat and over her breasts like she's being colored by the sun. Makes him want to sink his teeth into her, but Spike thinks he's got just enough self-control left to keep him from doing that. She might not like it. Plus it's not important, because she's his either way. 

He thrusts harder, grinding deep, and Dawn gasps and flexes her hips, welcoming him. Not gonna last long, not like this, with her hot and alive and wanting him, making no effort to stop him. "My girl," he says, more to himself than to her. 

Wants to feel her come, but it's too late for him to touch her with any sort of control. He's moving faster now, fucking her harder, rutting like an animal, and it's glorious. The real world might be shattered, but right here, just the two of them, everything's perfect. 

Spike comes with a roar, his hips snapping in with careless abandon, her little sounds like whimpers that don't do a thing to bring him back toward anything resembling control. In that moment, with his release spilling out of him, he doesn't care about feeding from her -- he just wants to hear more of those sounds. Doesn't matter if they're pain or pleasure, because they make his dick stay hard despite the fact that he just came, make him want to fuck her harder and longer just so he can hear them. 

She's gasping for air underneath him, the noises escaping her with each hard thrust. One of her little hands is clutching onto a handful of blanket. "Spike," she whimpers. 

He pulls back and shoves in again, reveling in the way she feels around him, so tight and sweet. He's holding onto her waist with both hands, and suddenly he realizes how small and frail she is -- in comparison to a vampire at least. Her heart's fluttering like a caught moth's wings, her pupils are wide and dark, her naked body enough to make anyone want her. 

"God yeah," Spike growls, thrusting again. "My... good... girl." 

And Dawn wails and arches her back, coming, her heel digging into the back of his shoulder as he feels her muscles contracting and pounds into her, driving toward his second release in an astoundingly short amount of time, although this one leaves him trembling and, finally, sated. 

Spike shudders and then withdraws, gentleness coming easier now that he's no longer being driven by hunger of one sort or another. He kisses the inside of Dawn's soft thigh before lying down beside her and pulling her into his arms. 

She's quiet for a long time, her breathing slowing gradually, the thundering of her heart becoming less intense. Her fingertips draw little designs on his chest, and she almost says something a few times before she actually manages it. "Spike?" 

"Yeah?" He turns his head, breathes in the scent of her hair. 

"Do you... do you love me?" It comes out in a rush, like that's the only way she can get herself to ask. Before he can even answer, she rushes on. "I mean, I know you loved Drusilla, and... and Buffy..." She doesn't say the name easily, even now, which is fine by Spike because he doesn't particularly like hearing it. "And... I know I'm  
not like them. But..." 

"You think I'd go to all this trouble to take care of someone I didn't love?" Spike asks. In his mind it's an answer to the question. 

"No? I mean, I guess." Dawn's voice sounds small. 

"Shh," Spike tells her, holding her closer and letting his eyes drift shut. Had a busy night, and now all he'd like is to get some sleep, preferably with her in his arms so he knows she's safe. "You all right?" he asks, realizing that he hasn't made sure of that yet. 

"Uh-huh." She seems content and relaxed, warm and pliant in his embrace. 

As he falls off into sleep, Spike's last thought is that of course he loves her. 

He was made for this too. 

* * *

Dawn doesn't fall asleep when Spike does. 

It's not like she isn't tired -- she slept some when Spike was gone, but it was mostly like drowsing. She kept waking up and thinking that maybe he was back, but then he wasn't. Except then he was, and she can't even begin to get what went on between him and Peter. Everything was fine when Spike left to go out. Or she thought it was. 

Maybe punching people is, like, a guy thing. 

She turns slightly in Spike's embrace, and his arm tightens around her. She smiles. Even when he's asleep, he tries to take care of her, something that she's actually kind of torn about. It's not that she doesn't like feeling safe \-- duh, no one's that stupid -- and it's not that she doesn't appreciate that he wants to. It's more like she doesn't want to _need_ anyone to protect her. Buffy didn't. Buffy was strong, and even through the whole Angel thing, Dawn always knew that Buffy didn't really _need_ him. She just wanted him. 

Dawn feels smug that she's the one who has Spike now, even if Buffy never actually wanted Spike, and then she feels guilty for feeling smug. 

Okay, guilt sucks. Moving on. 

She wasn't scared when he started taking her clothes off, even though he'd just hit Peter and it was pretty obvious that he was all excited by his night out. She'd been able to taste the blood in his mouth when he first kissed her, and it hadn't been gross enough for her to want him to stop, even if the thought of it now is more that a little bit disgusting. Because yeah, he's a vampire, and the whole drinking blood thing is like par for the course. He's supposed to do that. 

Dawn knows that he could hurt her, if he wanted to. Again, not stupid. She doesn't think he will though, and not just because he cares about her. She does think maybe having had the chip in him for so long gave him... well, sort of a practice kind of self control. Still, she's not going to take any chances. 

If Buffy killed Angel to save the world, that means Dawn is capable of killing Spike to save herself. 

If she has to. 

Right? 

After a little while longer, she eases out from under Spike's arm and pulls on her clothes. When she glances back at him, she smiles at the way he's lying there sprawled with his jeans half off, but then she thinks that he actually looks kind of vulnerable. She pulls one of the blankets up over him and smoothes back her hair before going to look for Peter. 

It's early morning still, only about an hour past sunrise, and Peter is sitting in the living room on one of the chairs, staring at the wall. He looks up when she comes in though, and his expression quickly changes from a blank kind of seething to a smile. 

"How's it look?" he asks, gesturing at his face. 

Dawn goes closer and looks. "Um, like you got punched?" she suggests. It's not that bad really, kind of swollen but not really bruised, although maybe that will come later. 

"Yeah. That's how it feels." Peter picks up an ice pack from the table and holds it against his face like he's been doing it off and on for a while, which he probably has. 

"What happened?" Dawn asks, pulling out another chair and sitting down. It occurs to her that Peter must know she and Spike just had sex, and she feels her cheeks flush. 

"I guess Spike thought maybe I'd look better with a fat lip." Peter's voice is muffled by the ice pack, and he takes it away from his face again and throws it toward the trash barrel over near the table. He misses and it lands on the floor with a squishy splat. "It was almost warm," he explains. 

"But he wouldn't just hit you. I mean, for no reason?" Dawn's not sure, and she's also not sure she wants to think about it, but then she figures denial can only get you so far. 

Peter shrugs. "It's a guy thing," he says. 

Dawn frowns and crosses her arms in front of her chest. She's totally not prepared to settle for that as an explanation, not when it's the one she came up with on her own. "What does that mean?" 

He makes a frustrated kind of noise. "It means... you know. Men act certain ways with other men." 

She watches him more closely, like maybe she'll be able to see something that will help her understand. It's not like she's had a lot of men in her life, at least not lately, and usually not more than one at a time. "Like idiots?" 

Peter laughs a little bit, but it doesn't sound real, and for just a second, Dawn thinks she can see something in his eyes. Something that makes her feel like Spike might actually be safer than Peter is, even despite the whole vampire thing. 

Then it's gone, and he looks like himself again. "Yes," he says. "Sometimes we can be idiots. Women are definitely the fairer sex. Happy now?" 

She grins, pushing back whatever nervousness had started to surface. "Well, it's not like I didn't know that already." 

He opens his mouth like he's going to say something else, then stops. 

"What...?" Dawn starts to ask, but he holds up his hand to tell her to be quiet, and she stops too, listening. 

"There's a car outside," Peter says, standing up and almost tipping over his chair in his haste. "Big one, maybe a pick-up or an SUV." 

Dawn's tempted to ask how the heck he can tell -- what, does he have some super hearing ability all of a sudden? -- but she's also unnerved by how tense Peter seems, and she gets up too. "Who could it be?" she almost whispers. "I mean, it can't be vampires. The sun's out." 

"Unless they found some way to get around that," Peter says shortly. "Besides, there's plenty of demons and things that can move around in the daylight. Just because the sun means fewer demons, it doesn't mean _no_ demons." 

And she knew that, but being reminded makes her scared. And being scared makes her stubborn. She lifts her chin. "They can't get in anyway," she says, tossing her hair back with false bravado. "That's what the barricade is for." 

"The barricade will slow them down," Peter admits. "Doesn't mean it's foolproof." He's moving toward the door now. 

Dawn follows him, but stops at the edge of the doorway, not sure she really wants a good view if a bunch of demons are going to appear on the other side of the barricade. She starts to ask if she should go wake up Spike, but there's a voice outside calling loudly. 

Calling her name. 

Only a split second passes before she realizes who it is, and then she's flying out into the hallway past Peter, calling back, "I'm here!" as she snatches up the keys and starts fumbling with the locks. 

* * *

"Dawn!" Again, and it's closer now. 

There's a little voice in her head chanting _please, oh please God_ , and she thinks she might be crying because it's hard to see the lock and her hands are shaking. 

One lock snaps open, and Xander comes around the corner and down the stairs. 

There's someone else behind him, but Dawn doesn't spare him a second glance. She's too busy trying to look at Xander and undo the locks at the same time, which so totally isn't working out. "Hang on," she says. "I just need to... oh my God, this is so amazing, I can't believe you're here. You are, right? I mean, I'm not, like, dreaming this or something?" Why won't her fingers work? 

"Yeah, it's me," Xander says, at the bottom of the stairs now. "I'm here." 

Then, before she can open the next lock, she hears a funny click behind her, and Xander freezes. 

Dawn turns her head, disbelieving what her head's already told her, and sees Peter. 

Holding a gun. 

Pointed at her. 

"I don't think that's a good idea," Peter says slowly. 

Wanting to be misunderstanding, Dawn swallows. "No, it's okay. I mean, I know him." 

"Who is this guy?" Xander asks. 

"Peter," Dawn says, not taking her eyes off him even though it's Xander she's talking to. Or maybe it's not. 

"You want to be turning around and going back the way you came," Peter says, and he's _definitely_ talking to Xander. "I can shoot you just as easy as her." He swings the gun toward Xander. 

Dawn looks in that direction. Xander takes a step back, both his hands held up. "Okay, just take it easy," he says. "Whatever it is you're not liking about this situation? We can take care of it. Just put down the gun." 

She doesn't even have time to turn back to Peter before he grabs her shoulder and yanks her back against him. The barrel of the gun is hard and cool on her head, and she only struggles for a second before she gives up. 

There's another click, and the man who was standing behind Xander takes a step to the side, and he's got a gun too, and _where's Spike_? Dawn wants to scream for him, but she's afraid that if she does Peter might shoot her, or Xander, or... that couldn't be _Wesley_. 

"I think you'll want to do what Xander suggested," Wesley says, totally calm and cool, with the gun pointed at them. "I'm a very good shot, and chances are I can kill you before you can pull the trigger." 

Right, because that's the kind of thing that works in real life just as well as it always does in the movies. "Please," Dawn says, squirming just enough in Peter's grip to get his attention. "Don't do this." 

"If this is how you treat your friends, I'd hate to see how you treat your enemies," Xander adds. 

" _I don't want to shoot her_ ," Peter says, raising his voice and tightening his arm across Dawn's chest. It makes it hard to breathe. 

"Whereas I most assuredly wouldn't mind shooting _you_." Wesley still sounds freakishly calm, and Dawn can't help but wonder if it's because he maybe doesn't actually care if she dies or not. It's not like he wasn't going to let the Mayor have Willow. 

"Why are you doing this?" she asks him. "I mean... I thought we were friends. I thought you liked me." 

Peter laughs a little bit, a scary kind of laugh. "Oh, I do." And suddenly Dawn feels the evidence of how much he likes her, and how, pressing up against her from behind, and that's when she whimpers for the first time. 

There's a noise behind them, and Peter spins them both a quarter turn, so that his back's against the wall and he can see Wesley and Xander _and_ Spike, who's standing in the hallway just outside the storage room. 

"You let go of her _right_ now," Spike says, in a low voice, all British in a way that Wesley's isn't, "and maybe I won't kill you." 

"I've been watching you for months," Peter says. "I know exactly how fast you can move. I know what you're capable of." 

"So what are you going to do?" Spike takes a step closer, and Peter presses the end of the gun harder against Dawn's skull. She whimpers again, and Spike stops. "Just what is it you think's gonna happen here? You think we're going to just let you walk out with her, like she's some kind of prize for the taking?" 

Dawn can feel Peter twitching, looking from Spike to Wesley and Xander and back again. 

"I was willing to _share_ her," Peter says, holding her even tighter. "You're just a vampire -- there are things she's going to want that you can't give her. She _needed_ me." 

She flashes back to their weird conversation about how, if she wanted to have a baby... 

Then everything happens really fast, so fast that she can't keep track of it. Spike moves, and the gun next to Dawn's head goes off, so loudly that it blots out the sound of anything else. She thinks someone's shouting, but her ears are ringing so she can't tell for sure. 

For a second she thinks Peter shot her, but then she realizes that she's not hurt at the same time Spike crashes into them, knocking the breath right out of her. There's another shot, not as loud this time -- or maybe her hearing is just messed up -- and Spike staggers back. Dawn would know just from the look on his face that he's been shot, even if the fast bloom of dark red blood on his pale skin, running down and soaking into the top of his unfastened jeans wasn't there to show her. 

She screams, and that sounds weird too. 

There's another gunshot, from a little bit further away, a different kind of noise, and Peter, who was standing right behind her and still holding onto her upper arm, yells and lets go of her. Dawn turns in time to see the gross big bloody chunk missing from the top of his shoulder -- or okay, to _not_ see it -- and her opportunity, all at once. 

It doesn't matter what anyone else is doing. 

She continues the turn and knees Peter right in the balls with all her strength, and if it's possible for him to turn any whiter, he does. Dawn grabs the gun from his hand -- it's not even that hard to wrestle it out of his grip \-- and she can hear Xander saying something, and see Spike struggling to his feet out of the corner of her eye. 

She can see the fear on Peter's face. 

She shoots him four times, right in the middle of the chest, where she figures his heart has to be, if he even has one. He collapses fast, one minute alive and the next minute dead. 

Then Dawn throws the gun over against the wall, puts her arm up over her face, and sinks down to the floor, trembling so hard that there's no room left in the world to care what anyone else does. 

* * *

Nothing like a gunshot wound to the gut to really wake you up, Spike thinks, staggering over to Dawn and collapsing grateful to the floor next to her. "Bit? Dawn? You hurt?" His hands leave blood on her, sleeves of her t-shirt and the side of her face. 

She shakes her head a little. "N-no. I'm okay." But she's pale, and her hands are trembling. Probably hasn't even hit her yet. Her eyes, when they meet his, suddenly go lucid and then frantic. "Oh my God, Spike," and he thinks she's going to start going on about how she killed Peter. But she says, "You're hurt." 

Which is a fucking enormous understatement, since Spike can feel the blood running out of him, from his stomach and his back, where there's a great gaping hole that Dawn hasn't even seen yet. 

"Dawn," he hears Harris say. "Let us in." 

She looks to the barricade and back to Spike again, and he nods. "Go on. Do it quick." Uses the time it takes her to get the keys into the locks to fall down onto the floor and press the heel of his hand into the wound -- won't do much good, but might slow the bleeding some. The pain of it makes him arch up and grit his teeth. 

To his surprise, when Dawn gets the barricade open, Xander comes right over to his side, kneeling down and pulling a wad of fabric -- maybe an old t-shirt \-- out of nowhere and bats Spike's hand out of the way, pushing the t-shirt down on the wound, hard. Spike groans and coughs up blood, but he puts his hand back over Xander's. "Thanks," he rasps, and looks up. 

Harris looks about the same -- thinner, they all are, and more muscled. His hair's longer too. But the biggest difference is that he's got an eye patch over one eye. 

"Did it come out the other side?" Xander asks him. 

"Yeah, pretty sure." 

"Wes?" Xander says, and the other man -- tall, thin but wiry, wearing glasses -- comes over and kneels down too. Dawn's there, but trying to keep out of the way. Spike can see her clutching her hands together like she's trying to calm herself down. 

"I'm all right," Spike tells her, but the attempt at comfort falls short when Harris rolls him to one side so that the other bloke can press another makeshift bandage to the hole in his back and Spike yelps. 

She moves around them and gets down on the floor near his head. "What can I do?" she asks, and it's clear she's talking to Xander. 

"Is there any blood?" the other man asks, his British accent more cultured than Spike's by half, but familiar. 

"No," Dawn says. 

"All right. Don't worry, it's going to be fine." The guy \-- Wes, Xander'd called him -- has gentle hands, warm on Spike's skin. "We'll wait a bit for these wounds to close up." 

"What was the deal with that guy?" Xander asks, turning his head to look over at Peter's body. 

"Bloody lunatic," Spike says shortly. "I should have done something about him before now. Knew he wasn't right in the head." 

Dawn's voice is soft. "Me too. I mean... I didn't know he was going to do something like that, but I knew... he was weird sometimes." 

He has to crane his neck to see her, but he does it. "It's all right. You did the right thing, yeah? Surprised the hell out of me, but I should have known better. Should have known you could handle it." 

She looks troubled, but she nods. "I know." Her gaze goes to Xander, and she looks more upset. "What happened to your eye?" 

Xander clears his throat and glances down at Spike's gut, shifting the pressure of his hand underneath Spike's. "It's kind of a long story. I'll tell you later, okay?" 

"Okay." Dawn still doesn't sound right to Spike, but maybe that shouldn't be a surprise. 

He turns his head to look at the man kneeling on the floor behind him. "Not to sound ungrateful, mate, but who the bloody hell are you?" 

"Wesley Wyndam-Pryce," the man says. "And you're Spike, AKA William the Bloody." 

Spike groans, and not just because Harris chooses that moment to press a little bit harder on the gaping hole in his gut. "Not another bloody Watcher." 

"That adjective is more accurately yours than mine at the moment," Wesley says, holding a hand streaked with blood up where Spike can see it. "And, in point of fact, I no longer worked for the Watcher's Council for some time before the apocalypse hit." 

"They fired him," Dawn says helpfully. 

"Yes, thank you, Dawn," Wesley says, then looks at Xander. "What's the plan then? Do we stay here, or move on?" 

Xander seems to think about it for a minute, then says, "Move on, I think." 

Spike struggles to sit up, and Harris makes a sound of protest that he ignores. "What, you think we're tagging along just like that? We've been here for months, doing fine on our own. We don't need you." 

"People who are doing fine generally don't have cavernous holes through their torsos," Wesley says mildly. 

Spike grits his teeth. "And in a couple of hours, neither will I." 

"I want to go with them," Dawn says. 

He's more surprised to hear her say it like that -- like she might leave without him -- than he is that she wants to go. Or maybe not. It's seemed like she feels safe here, and he would have bet good money that she'd want to stay if given the choice. But when he glances at her she seems serious enough. 

"You sure?" Spike's talking to her and her alone, like the other two aren't even there. 

"Uh-huh. It's time. Don't you think?" 

And it's not like he hasn't been chomping at the bit for weeks now, cooped up in this sanctuary that feels more like a prison. There's nothing he'd like better than to go. Anywhere. 

Well maybe not just this second, what with the excruciating pain and everything. 

Dawn stands up and goes over to where Peter's body is, just looking at him. 

Harris glances at her. "Dawn, don't look at that." 

She doesn't respond -- just stands there transfixed. 

" _Dawn_ ," Spike says, projecting an edge into his voice, and Dawn hears him and turns. "You all right?" 

"Yeah. I'm okay." She crosses her arms in front of her, the edges of her mouth turning down a bit in the universal teenaged girl pout. Makes her look even younger than she is. "He's got blood," she says. 

"What are you on about?" 

"You need blood," Dawn says, like he's woefully stupid, "and he's got some. It's just getting wasted all over the floor." She rolls her eyes a bit. "If you'd been faster, you could have killed him yourself and had all of it." 

He's a bit stunned that she's so nonchalant about the whole thing, but then he remembers her sitting in his crypt, asking him to tell her stories of the terrible things he'd done back in the day. How her heart had raced, her breathing quickened. The way she'd stared at him the whole time he talked. 

It shouldn't surprise him that she's got this in her. 

Spike exchanges a look with Harris. "Yeah, okay. Why don't you go get some of our things together then. If you're sure you want to go." 

Dawn nods, pauses, then she disappears back into the storage room where her clothes are. 

Trying to ignore the stabbing pain -- and at least the bleeding's slowed a lot, that's something -- Spike drags himself to a sitting position with the help of Wesley as Xander pulls Peter's body over. 

"Think I can take it from here, mate," Spike tells him, but he's grateful for the help, and he knows it shows in his eyes. Kindness isn't the kind of thing he can ignore. 

Lots of other things, maybe, but not that. 

Xander goes back to help Dawn, and Spike drains the rest of the blood from Peter's body, grateful for it. Wesley's right there behind him. Acts like he's seen it all and there's nothing left to bother him. 

"Thanks," Spike says, when he leans against Wesley, weak with the effort of feeding. At least most of it seems to be staying in him. 

"You're welcome." Bloke doesn't seem to have much to say, and that makes Spike curious. Makes him want to draw a conversation out of him. 

"Where were you?" he asks. "When it happened?" 

Wesley's answer is flat. "L.A." 

"And you already knew Harris? How you'd hook back up?" 

The shoulder behind his back stiffens slightly. "When I'd ascertained that none of my colleagues in L.A. had survived the initial cataclysm, I headed to Sunnydale to check on the people I knew there. Xander was the only one I was able to find. As far as we know, everyone else died." 

Dawn and Xander come out of the storage room and into the hallway, and stop talking when they hear Wesley. 

"You were in L.A. with Angel," Spike realizes. 

"Technically yes," Wesley says. "But Angel went to Tibet shortly after Buffy died, and even if he's still... alive, there's no way to contact him there. We have to assume he's gone." He says the words like they're something he's told himself again and again, trying to make himself believe them. 

"And where was Harris?" It's easier to pretend that he doesn't know Xander is standing there with Dawn -- easier to talk about him like he's not there. 

Wesley checks the wound on Spike's back carefully, but it still makes him hiss with pain. "Under the rubble of his apartment building," Wesley says, turning his head and looking at Xander. 

"We think Anya died right away," Xander says, and when Spike looks at him, Dawn's holding his hand. "Until Wes showed up, I thought it was an earthquake. Well, maybe I suspected something wasn't right before that because no one came to get us out. That's how... you know, with the eye." He gestures at the patch on his face. 

Neither of them needs to say that it was a close call \-- Spike figures he and Dawn can both tell. They both know that if Wesley hadn't gone to Sunnydale, Xander would be dead now. 

It's pretty clear from the way Harris looks at Wesley that he knows it too. 

Xander comes over and covers Peter's body up with a blanket, then clears his throat. 

"We have more," Dawn offers, gesturing to show him that she's got several blankets tucked under her arm. "We can get you out to their car and go. You know, as soon as you're ready." 

It's sunny out, hours and hours until night falls. But Spike thinks he's never been so ready to leave a place as he is this one, right now. 

Still, he should be looking out for Dawn. "We got a plan?" 

"Keep moving," Wesley says mildly. 

That's good enough for Spike.  
  
 **III. Across the Valley**

Dawn bounces in the seat a little bit when they finally pull away from the building, and Spike protests with a mutter. "Sorry," she says, patting his shoulder. 

"S'okay. Just take it easy there." He's quieter than usual, and she figures it's because he's hurt. 

It's taken them a lot longer than she thought it would \-- getting their stuff together didn't really take that long because most of it she didn't care about, but they'd had to paint all the back windows of Xander and Wesley's \-- wow, weird combination there -- car so that Spike could ride in it. 

"So where are we going?" Dawn asks after a minute. 

"South," Wesley says, looking back at her from the front passenger seat. "Warmer, fewer vampires..." 

"More sunshine," Spike says glumly. 

"Yes, but we can make accommodations for one," Wesley says. "Whereas others will be more likely to settle in areas where the days are shorter." 

Spike shifts his body a little bit on the seat and makes a pained noise that goes right to Dawn's stomach. "Not if everyone else has the same idea as you," he says. "Vamps will go where the food is." 

Dawn looks down at him, sliding her fingers through his hair gently while he and Wesley, with the occasional comment from Xander, argue about where they're going to go. She wonders if she should point out that this might have been a good conversation to have before they, I don't know, _left the school_ , but she's too busy being grateful that Spike's okay. And it's nice to be able to touch him like this, to kind of make him feel better, even a little bit, while he's too distracted to pretend that he doesn't like it. 

"It's okay," she says quietly, just for him, when there's a pause. "It'll still get dark at night just like everywhere else. And I can stay up with you. It'll be good." 

And Spike turns his head on her thigh so he can see her. His eyes look darker than usual, and kind of soft. "Yeah. It'll be good." He puts a hand up and rubs her cheek, and she smiles. 

When she looks up again, Xander is watching her in the rearview mirror. He turns around, a quick glance because hello, he's driving, and then looks forward again. But he doesn't say anything. 

Dawn thinks that she'll have to talk to him later, so that she can explain about her and Spike. Wow, so not looking forward to that conversation. 

"Got something to say, Harris?" Spike asks. 

Or, you know, they could talk about it now. 

"Who me?" Xander says, not even glancing in the mirror now. "Nah. What could I have to say about the fact that you're all over Dawn like a cheap shirt?" 

" _All_ the shirts are cheap now, they're bloody _free_ ," Spike says, almost like he's bored. He doesn't sound mad, at least, and that's good. She thinks. 

"That's not what I meant, and you know it." Xander sounds irritated. 

"She's right here," Spike says, defending her ability to stand up for herself, which gains him _so_ many points as far as Dawn is concerned. "She's not a piece of furniture -- ask _her_ about it, if you want to know." 

Eep. 

That's not exactly what Dawn was hoping for -- she's not sure she's ready to try to explain this to anyone, especially Xander, and now she's, like, on the spot. "Wait. Who's a cheap shirt?" 

Xander glances at her, his eye meeting both of hers in the mirror for like a split second. "It's just... you guys seem, you know. Pretty touchy-feely." 

"And?" Dawn can feel her jaw tightening. 

"And he's a vampire," Xander says. 

"A vampire that's spent the past what, year and a half helping you lot save the world," Spike puts in, like he can't keep his mouth shut. Which, okay, is probably true. 

Dawn thinks the 'save the world' thing must strike them all the same way, because for a really, really long minute the inside of the car is totally quiet. 

"Perhaps this isn't the best time to discuss this," Wesley says. 

Since he's facing forward, Dawn can sort of study him without him knowing. He looks -- well okay, maybe not actually all that different, but somehow he seems different anyway. It's mostly that his hair is messy instead of perfect, and his clothes are normal instead of being all Mr-Proper-Suit-Guy. He has stubble on his face too. 

It's when he talks that you really notice it though. 

In Sunnydale, Wesley was... well, there might not be a polite way to put it. But he talked too much about stuff no one cared about, and he didn't care about the right things. Plus he was a jerk and he walked like his shirt still had the hanger in it. 

Now he doesn't say much at all, and when he does, it's in that soft voice that makes everyone listen, especially Xander. Well, except for when he was holding the gun on Peter. Then Wesley had sounded cold and hard, like some kind of... convict, or something. 

Dawn's cautiously optimistic about him, she decides. He obviously has more of a clue than he used to, and Xander trusts him, so... 

She gets that Xander doesn't want to talk about what happened to his eye -- it's not like talking about it will change anything, and mostly, talking about stuff you can't change just makes you feel bad. She wonders if it's all icky underneath the eye patch, or just, like, an empty socket. Okay, she's grossing herself out. 

Her fingers are gently stroking through Spike's hair again, and he makes a little noise of appreciation, rubbing his cheek against her thigh. "You okay?" she asks. 

"Been better," Spike says. 

"You're going to need more blood," Dawn says, a little bit more loudly than she needs to because she wants Wesley and Xander in the front seat to hear too. 

"Well he sure as hell can't have mine," Xander says. 

"Wouldn't take it if you were the last man on earth," Spike says. Wesley turns to look at him. "No offense, mate." 

Wesley actually looks kind of... amused, or something. "None taken." 

"He won't anyway," Dawn says. "Not even mine. I asked. Kind of." She'd more hinted really. 

Xander's hands tighten on the wheel, but he doesn't turn around. "What, you just said, 'Hey Spike, if you start feeling hungry, feel free to consider me a walking, talking snack bar?'" 

Dawn rolls her eyes. "Yeah, that's exactly what I said." 

"Doesn't matter what she said," Spike says. "'Cause I said _no_." 

A tiny pause. "Well... good." Xander glances at Wesley and slows down the car -- SUV, really -- to go around another one that's abandoned in the middle of the highway. "We're gonna need gas soon." 

Wesley leans over and looks at the dashboard. "Next exit?" he suggests. 

"Yeah." 

Dawn isn't sure if she should be glad that the conversation about the blood thing is over, or worried because she knows they're going to have to go back to it at some point in time, but she doesn't want Spike to be all stressed about it. Which he is, even if he'd deny it. She can tell just by the way his shoulder is tense. She rubs it, trying to get the muscle to loosen up, but doesn't say anything. 

She wonders if it's possible to get, like, poisoned from secondhand testosterone. 

"So, we're gonna stop soon?" 

Xander nods. "Yeah." 

"Good," Dawn says. 

"Are you all right?" Wesley asks, turning to look at her. 

"Yeah. I just have to... you know." She widens her eyes a little bit, although she's not sure why. It's not like doing that's going to tell Wesley that she has to pee. 

But surprisingly, he seems to get it anyway. "We'll find somewhere with a bathroom then." 

"Cool." Dawn thinks Wesley's probably just realizing now what a pain it's going to be to have her and Spike around -- a girl who can't just relieve herself on the side of the road the way guys can, and a vampire who can't be out during daylight hours. 

They pull off the highway. "Gotta be a gas station around here somewhere," Xander mutters, then he spots one and drives over, stopping the car next to some others instead of near the pumps. 

"How are you going to get gas from over here?" Dawn asks, confused. 

"We have a system," Wesley says calmly, bending forward like he's reaching for something under his seat. "In any case, most of the pumps don't work anymore." 

"Oh, right." Dawn slides sideways, grabbing her sweater off the floor and then sliding it under Spike's head so she can get up. "Don't try to get up or anything, okay? We don't want you bleeding all over the car." Saying it makes her think about their other car, the one that she ruined before they got to the school and Peter. 

Spike grimaces. "Don't worry -- not planning on going anywhere." He looks meaningfully toward the door. "Sunshine, remember?" 

They set up the side sliding door of the car with a heavy black blanket over it to make going in and out easier, and Dawn slips between the two carefully before opening the door and stepping out into the daylight. 

She looks around. It seems weird to be outside during the day -- she has to squint against the glare -- but everything's totally quiet. She spots the restroom sign on the side of the building. 

"I'll be right back," she says. 

* * *

The bathroom is totally gross -- dingy, the inside of the toilet bowl practically brown, although Dawn is pretty sure that's because the water's been sitting in it for a long time. It doesn't really smell or anything -- at least, not like anything but mildew. She pees quickly \-- it feels weird leaving Spike, even if she knows he's with Xander and Wesley -- but when she goes to wipe, there's blood. 

Great. 

Not that there's ever a good time to get your period, but when you're with three guys in a car, it's pretty inconvenient. Not to mention she doesn't think she brought the tampons with her when they left, so even if she wanted to go back to the car and get them, she can't. 

Dawn glances around the room and, wonder of wonders, there's actually a tampon dispenser on the wall. Now, with her luck it just _has_ to be empty, right? 

Nope. Tampons galore. 

Unable to believe it, she takes care of her little problem and sticks the other tampons into the pocket of her jeans. Washes her hands -- well, rinses them anyway -- and unlocks the bathroom door. 

Steps out into the sunshine. 

And the SUV is gone. 

* * * * *

Spike's not even sure how it happens -- it's quick, plus he can't see out the windows. Harris and Wesley get out, presumably to start fiddling around with the petrol. He hears the very faint sound of the bathroom door opening and closing as Dawn goes in and then, much closer, a muffled sound and a dull thump, and the blanket covering the door's being opened. 

He pulls back from it instinctively as the sunshine comes pouring in, scrabbling as far over on the seat as he can as Wesley's unconscious form is dumped onto the floor 

"What the bloody hell...?" 

"Shut up, vampire," the Grak'cktar demon that's pushing its way into the vehicle growls, jamming the muzzle of its gun into Spike's side not far from where he's still oozing blood from the last bullet. He grits his teeth and manages not to make any noise about it -- whatever the hell's going on, it might be better if the demons -- he can hear at least one more outside -- don't know he's hurt. 

Harris gets back in the driver's seat. There's blood running down the side of his face and matted into his hair, and he's holding up his hands when he can, trying to indicate to the other Grak'cktar that he's not gonna try anything funny. Other one's got a gun too, and comes around to get into the passenger seat, gesturing at Harris with it. "Drive," it says. 

Xander glances back, his eye moving over Wesley's still form and then up to meet Spike's. 

He can see right away that Xander knows better than to mention Dawn, not that leaving her here on her own's much better than protecting her from these blokes. 

"Where do you want me to go?" Xander asks. 

The demon sitting next to Spike slides the door shut, carelessly letting another shaft of sunlight into the back seat. "That way," it says, gesturing back in the direction they've come from. 

"You want to kill us?" Spike says, knowing what the Grak'cktar's have got planned for the humans anyway \-- known delicacy. "You want the car? What?" 

"Eh, we're greedy," the demon in the front seat says. "Want both." It turns around and looks at him appraisingly. " _And_ you." 

Brilliant. 

Wesley stirs briefly on the floor, and Spike leans down and pats his shoulder. "Easy, mate." 

They've started down the road away from the petrol station, Spike trying not to think about how Dawn's going to react when she comes out and finds herself alone. 

He sits up straight again, watching Harris' face in the crooked rearview mirror and cursing whatever it is that makes it so Harris can't see him back. A little eye contact could come in handy about now. "What do you want with me then?" he asks, since there's no point in keeping quiet. "I'm dead, I'm no good to you either way." 

The Grak'cktar next to him smiles a sharp-toothed lizard grin. "Oh, we have plenty of use for you, vampire." 

Not sure he likes the sound of that. 

On the floor, Wesley groans and stirs some more. Starting to come around, seems like. Spike leans down again, trying not to favor his gut, and brushes Wesley's long hair away from his face so he can see his eyes. "Easy," he says again, running his fingers over Wesley's skull and finding a big knot on the back of his head. 

Wesley turns his head slowly and blinks, his gaze meeting Spike's and sharpening with understanding of the situation way quicker than Spike would have given him credit for. He coughs, brings a hand up to his face, and nods, just a tiny motion of his chin. 

His foot kicks upward, boot slamming into the Grak'cktar's clawed hand and knocking the gun free to clatter into the well on the other side of the blanket. 

The demon in the front seat whips around, gun still pointed at Harris, and Spike doesn't hesitate, just throws himself toward it. He gets hold of the demon's forearm and forces the muzzle of the gun toward the front of the car. It goes off, the sound loud in the enclosed space, tiny perfect hole and a cobweb of cracks appearing in the windshield as Harris swears and ducks and the car swerves wildly. 

Grak'cktars are strong, but no stronger than vampires, and Spike has the beauty of adrenaline on his side as the two of them struggle briefly over the gun. Lucky thing they're driving away from the sun or the front seat'd be full of daylight, Spike thinks, then manages to wrestle the gun away. It flips through the air, up over the steering wheel, and lands on the dash for a few seconds before skittering down into Harris' lap. Xander swears again, car swerves again as he steps on the brakes and Spike uses the motion of the car to get the heel of his hand onto the Grak's chin and snap its neck. 

Turns back toward Wesley, who's somehow managed to get hold of the gun and has it pointed at the second demon's temple. "I don't think it deserves to live, do you?" Wesley asks flatly. 

"No argument from me," Spike says, and almost instantaneously Wesley pulls the trigger and the Grak'cktar's head explodes, most of it flying onto the blanket behind it. 

In the front seat, Xander clears his throat. "Great," he says wearily. "Now we're gonna have to find a new blanket." 

* * * * *

Wesley's swaying a bit on his knees, face pale, gun wavering in his hand. Spike takes it from him gently and pushes him down into a sitting position on the floor. "You okay to drive?" he asks Harris. 

Xander is watching Wesley worriedly, but he nods. "Yeah, I'm okay." 

"Then get this bloody thing turned around and back where we came from," Spike says, kicking the Grak'cktar's body down behind the blanket as best he can and tucking the gun behind the front seat before turning Wesley's face to look at him. Wesley's eyes are glassy and dazed, like he can't focus properly behind the glasses that are, surprisingly enough, still on after all this. "Think he cracked your skull?" 

Wesley blinks, but has better sense than to shake his head. "No, I don't think so." 

"Good." Last thing they need is someone with a serious injury slowing them down. 

Harris gets the car facing the other direction and starts driving. The sun's starting to set, but it's right in front of them now, so Spike's got to keep back. Can't see anything that way, so he keeps an eye on Wesley instead, tense until he hears a sigh of relief from Xander. 

"She's there," Xander says. "I can see her, she's fine." 

"She won't be fine until she's back in this car," Spike says, but he can't deny to himself that he's relieved as well. 

Another minute and the car stops, Harris putting it into park. He hands the other gun back to Spike without a word, then he gets out, leaving the engine running in what Spike thinks is a stupid move. 

"Sorry," he hears Harris say. "There was this little thing with a kidnapping. Or maybe it was a car-jacking. Anyway... you okay?" 

Spike can hear the relief in Dawn's voice too when she answers. "Yeah. Are you guys okay?" 

"Uh-huh. Too bad I can't say the same for the inside of the car." Harris opens the passenger side door, says, "Look out," and dumps the Grak'cktar's body out onto the road. "Here, get in front, Wes is in back." 

Dawn climbs in and looks back at Spike. He can just about smell the fear on her -- unless that's the little bits of Grak'cktar brains that are spattered all over the blanket. 

"Look out, Spike," Harris says, sliding the back door open so that he can dump the second body out too. He sticks his head in tentatively, trying, Spike thinks, not to get demon guts on him. "Wesley? You okay?" 

Wesley raises his head from where he's been resting it on his arm and looks at Xander. "I'm all right. It's not the first time." 

"Yeah, I know. That's kind of why I was worried." 

"What happened to Wesley?" Dawn asks, shutting her door. 

"Bit of a bump on the head," Spike tells her. "You all right?" 

She nods. "Other than the mild freakage that occurred when I came out and you guys were gone? Yeah." 

Harris shuts the door and comes around, gets in and puts the car back into drive, turning it around again to take them back to the highway. "I think it's time we find somewhere to hole up for the night -- it's gonna be dark soon." He glances into the rearview mirror, and Spike can tell he's worried about Wesley. 

Wesley must be able to tell too. "Don't stop early on my account," he says, from his position with his head cradled on his arm again. "Spike?" 

"Yeah?" 

"Beneath your seat there's a first aid kit with chemical cold packs in it. Would you get one out for me please?" 

Spike reaches underneath and feels around until his hand makes contact with a cardboard box -- not a proper first aid kit, but it'll do. Puts the gun in the box -- might come in handy at some point. Takes him a minute to locate one of the cold packs and read the instructions, then he activates it, working it with both hands before passing it to Wesley. 

"Thank you," Wesley says, holding it over the knot and wincing. 

"Not a problem, mate." Spike suddenly catches the faint scent of blood. Not Harris' -- that's been a fine tuned little symphony since he got back into the car the first time with it running down the side of his face -- and not, he thinks, Wesley's. "You hurt anywhere else?" he asks anyway. 

Wesley closes his eyes. "No." 

"Bit? You okay?" 

"What?" Dawn says, looking back at him again. "Yeah, I'm okay. Didn't we already do this part?" 

"You're bleeding." He says it flatly, surely. 

Dawn looks confused. "No, I'm -- oh." She flushes, the color pale peach along her right cheekbone instead of its more normal pink because of the sunset ahead. "Yeah." 

Harris glances over at her from behind the wheel. "You're hurt." 

"No," Dawn says, with that little upswing in her voice that should be fair warning not to push further into the conversation. 

"Then what... oh." Xander sounds mildly horrified. "Thanks for bringing that to everyone's attention, Spike." 

Dawn is hiding her face in her hands. 

"It's perfectly natural," Wesley offers, without moving. Spike's surprised he's even managed to follow the conversation. "There's no reason to be embarrassed." 

"Oh my God," Dawn mutters. "This is _so_ not what I needed." 

None of the men reply. Spike thinks it's because they don't know what to say. 

They keep driving. 

* * * * *

It's way after dark by the time they finally get settled, but Dawn doesn't really care. She's not tired. 

The house is in the middle of nowhere -- well, not really, but it's the only one on the street, and that makes it feel safer. They don't have to worry about people or demons hiding out in other houses, because there aren't any. 

Dawn's not stupid. She knows that in some ways other people are just as scary as the monsters are. 

There's a really big living room with a bunch of couches and a fireplace, like whoever used to live here threw lots of parties. She can almost picture it -- a long table over against the far wall, piled high with fancy dishes and food, and candles everywhere, and people in fancy clothes. The men in suits, or even tuxes, and the women in long dresses with high heels and lots of sparkly jewelry. 

She looks down at her own grubby clothes and sighs. 

Spike collapses onto one of the couches with a groan, and Wesley sinks down onto another one while Xander goes over and checks out the fireplace. It's dark, and they have a couple of good battery operated lanterns, but a fire would be nice. Cosy. 

"I'm gonna go find a bathroom," Dawn says, and Spike turns his head to look at her. 

"You want someone to go with you?" 

"I think I can handle it," she says. 

She takes one of the lanterns with her. The rest of the house -- the hallways especially -- is darker than that one big room, but it doesn't seem spooky or anything. It's kind of peaceful, and she wants to explore, but first things first. 

The bathroom smells a little funny, which is kind of normal, she remembers. She's just glad that there's water, even if it's not hot, so that she can wash her hands after dealing with the whole tampon issue. She flushes the toilet and washes her hands, drying them on the little white laced navy blue towel that's hanging from the towel rack next to the sink before picking up the lantern again. 

It's no surprise that the kitchen smells way more than a little funny, but Dawn knows that if she doesn't open the fridge at least it won't get worse. She goes through that room into another, smaller living room on the other side of it, then follows that one back around toward the front of the house until she finds a staircase leading up. 

There are five bedrooms on the second floor, and two more bathrooms. Every room has its own theme, its own set of colors, all of them muted and pale like a Martha Stewart magazine or something. Pale yellow in the master bedroom, pale blue and green in what looks like a boy's room \-- some kind of robot boy, Dawn figures, since it's way too neat to be the room of any _actual_ boy -- and a pale peach in what must be a teenaged girl's room. 

She looks through the drawers -- carefully, neatly, because it seems wrong to make a mess in this museum-like room -- and finds clothes that are close enough to her size, so she peels off the stuff she's been wearing and gets dressed again in some dead girl's clothes. Well, for all Dawn knows the girl isn't dead \-- maybe she's halfway across the country in someone else's house, putting on a different girl's clothes -- but it seems pretty likely. It also seems kind of weird to put on someone else's panties, but heck, they're clean, and Dawn figures there are so many worse things that could happen to her than whatever might because she put on someone else's underwear. 

Panties, khakis, and a red top with three quarter length sleeves -- she keeps her own bra -- and she feels better. There was something about wearing stuff that had Spike's blood on it -- even just little smears, since she'd left the really gross clothes back at the school that afternoon -- that bothered her. It's better wearing this stuff, even if it smells like someone else. 

There's a dressing table against one wall, so Dawn takes the lantern again and goes over, sitting down on the little stool in front of it. In the mirror she looks pale, her eyes big and dark in her white face. Her hair is a mess, all tangled, and she reaches automatically for the brush on the shelf to her right to straighten it. She brushes with one hand, pulling through snarls so stubborn that it makes her eyes water to rip them free, and uses the other to look through the little drawers on both sides of the table. Makeup is tempting, but seriously impractical, and she's pretty sure Spike would look at her funny if she sprayed on some perfume. 

Hair scrunchies, on the other hand, are a definite two thumbs up, and she uses one to pull her hair back into a ponytail before selecting a few more and slipping them into her pocket. That makes her remember the tampon stash in her old pants, so she goes back for those too, then decides that it's about time she went back downstairs. 

"Get lost?" Spike asks when she goes back into the big room. 

"Yeah," Xander says. "We were getting ready to send a search party." 

"I could have," Dawn tells them, sitting down on the arm of Spike's couch. "This place is huge. Do you think some millionaire lived here or something?" 

"Fat lot of good his money did him," Spike says, reaching out and rubbing her thigh gently. His hand stops moving. "You changed clothes." 

"Uh-huh. There's a whole room full of stuff upstairs." She realizes she hasn't eaten in kind of a long time when her stomach growls. "Is anyone else hungry?" 

Xander sits back on his heels and looks at the fire burning brightly in the fireplace. "I could do food. The post-apocalyptic meal -- it's not just a chore, it's an adventure." 

Spike has his feet up on a small table, his boots unlaced like usual, and Wesley is slouched on his couch, his lips thin and pressed together like he's really hurting. 

"I'll pass for now," Wesley says tiredly. 

"You sure?" Xander asks, getting up and going over to him, moving the cold pack that Wesley still has held against his head and running his fingers through Wesley's hair. "Yeah, that's quite a bump." 

"There might be some aspirin or something in the bathroom," Dawn says. "You want me to check?" 

"Yeah," Xander says, answering for Wesley, who weirdly doesn't say anything about that. "Thanks." 

"No problem." She takes the lantern back to the bathroom, where it takes less than a minute to find two bottles. She brings them, along with a glass of water, into the living room and hands them to Xander. "There's aspirin and tylenol -- I didn't know which one was better. For head things, I mean." 

"Tylenol," Wesley says. 

Xander takes two out and gives them to Wesley with the cup of water, watching anxiously as Wesley takes them. "You gonna be okay?" 

Wesley smiles at him. "Of course. You know the drill." 

"Wake you up every two hours," Xander recites, like they've done this more than once before. Dawn wonders if it's some kind of bad side effect of being a Watcher, the getting hit on the head thing. "Just try to stay awake for a little while, okay?" 

"All right." 

Dawn leads the way to the kitchen with Xander right behind her and they start going through the cabinets, looking for anything unopened, canned foods, stuff like that. 

"Beef stew," Dawn says, setting it on the countertop. "Chicken soup, red beans, mandarin oranges. Ooh, maraschino cherries." Those are in a glass jar, but the seal is still good. She twists it open and takes a cherry out with her thumb and forefinger, looking at it for a second before popping into her mouth. She swoons. "Oh my god, these are so good." 

"You could try something with actual nutritional value, you know," Xander says, but he's grinning at her as she eats another one. 

"I like these," she says. "I'll eat other stuff too." 

Xander rummages around in a drawer until he finds a can opener. Then, like he's trying to be casual, he asks, "So what's with you and Spike?" 

Dawn frowns with the next maraschino cherry halfway to her mouth. "What do you mean?" 

"You know what I mean," Xander says. 

And yeah, she does, and she's not sure whether she should be flattered that Xander actually realizes how stupid she's not, or annoyed that he wants to talk about it. Talk her out of it, more like. "See, I kind of think it's none of your business." 

"Okay, that's fair," Xander says. "Except for the part where it _is_ my business, because we came a long way to find you and make sure you were okay, and somehow finding out that you and Spike have some kind of a... _thing_ going on doesn't leave me with that impression." 

"Why? Because he's a vampire? Or because you don't like him?" 

"Both," Xander says. "Although on the subject of being fair, I'll point out that I didn't like it when Buffy and Angel had their thing going either, and Angel had a soul. Well, most of the time." 

"Spike's good," Dawn argues. 

"Just because he's got a chip in his head, that doesn't make him good," Xander says. "He's just like a dog with one of those muzzle things on. It doesn't mean he's not going to bite you the first chance he gets. And okay, I didn't mean that literally. I just meant... you can't count on him." 

Dawn shakes her head, thinking she'd better not mention the whole chip-malfunction thing. It's probably better if Xander and Wesley don't know about that part. "I can," she says, pretty calmly. "You don't know because you haven't been... a lot of stuff happened. And I know I can trust him." 

When she looks up, Xander is watching her. "Just -- please tell me you're not having sex with him." 

Um... hm. Dawn figures she's past the point of lying -- shouldn't they all be? Seriously, it's not like Xander has any say in what she does, plus they have to be able to trust each other. 

She can tell by his face that she's already waited too long, which she can't say she feels bad about, given that it means she doesn't have to actually answer. "I don't like this," Xander says finally. 

"Yeah. I know." Dawn turns to look through the nearest couple of drawers until she finds some spoons. "You don't have to like it," she says quietly, gathering up the canned stuff into her arms. "I guess... well, you just have to get used to it." 

Without waiting for him to say anything else, she heads back down the hallway to the living room, leaving Xander there with the rest of the food and the can opener and the lantern. 

Dawn really hopes she doesn't trip in the dark and drop everything. That'd be such a typical way to spoil her cool exit. 

* * *

Dawn and Xander eat dinner in the living room. Spike'd be able to tell that something happened between them by the slight strain in their voices, even if he hadn't managed to overhear a fair bit of what they said even from the kitchen. He's proud of Dawn for standing up for herself \-- for not taking Harris' shit. 

Wesley's quiet, refusing Xander's offers of food and staying very still on the couch. Need to keep an eye on him, Spike thinks. Could be he's more seriously hurt than he's letting on. 

Dawn finishes eating a small can of honey roasted peanuts and licks her fingers. "So how did you know where we were? Was it, like, a magic thing?" 

"Nah," Xander says, shaking his head. "It was more a word of mouth kind of thing. At first, anyway." He takes another huge bite of whatever it is he's eating, something straight out of a can. Eats like he's starving, and by the look of him and Wesley the two of them have been staying just this side of that. 

"We searched Sunnydale for two days before leaving there," Wesley says quietly from the other couch. 

" _He_ did," Xander says, putting the empty can behind him on the edge of the hearth and opening a bag of crisps. "There wasn't any 'we' about it. I was... pretty out of it for a while." He looks over at Wesley, and Spike does too, in time to see a gentle smile on Wesley's face. 

"But you were the one who overheard it," Wesley says. 

"Well yeah, but... not like we both didn't overhear plenty of things we'd rather not have." 

Spike guesses from the sound of Harris' voice that they heard some pretty horrific things. "You come across a lot of people then? Live ones, I mean." 

"I wouldn't say a _lot_ ," Xander says, holding the open package of crisps toward Dawn, who takes a handful. "But some, yeah. And when there aren't a lot of people to talk to, you're kind of glad when all of a sudden there is. Apparently apocalypse and gossip-mongers go hand in hand." 

"In hand in hand in hand," Dawn adds, snickering through her mouthful of crisps. Xander and Spike both look at her, and she says, "What? You know, if there were demons? And they had more than... two... hands. Okay, never mind." Still, she looks moderately happy, and that makes Spike smile too, even if she's a bit daft sometimes. Not like he's not used to that, after all. "So there were people talking about us?" 

Xander nods. "This guy in Sunnydale, he'd heard about a vampire who came and shot up a building or something, rescuing a girl. So we thought..." 

"You were right," Spike says, without moving. "I'd do anything for her. If you don't know that by now, you never bloody will." 

Harris' one eye looks at him for a long, long time, while no one says anything. There's just the crackle of the fire and nothing else. Then Xander nods slowly. "So anyway," he continues, like there hadn't been an interruption, "we were going to head in the direction the guy thought maybe you'd gone." He's mostly talking to Dawn, but Spike doesn't feel like he's being ignored. 

"Not that that would have worked out very well," Wesley says. 

"We had to go back," Xander says. "To your house." He's apologetic. Least he's got enough sense to know that the thought of it might upset Dawn. 

"How come?" she asks, quiet. 

"We needed something that was yours." Xander glances at Wesley, then he eats another handful of crisps. 

Wesley's voice is getting softer. "There's a spell," he says. "There were times when we weren't sure it was working -- it seemed as though you'd go in one direction and then turn around and head in the other. We weren't certain what was going on." 

"So we just kept going," Xander says. "Then, when you stopped moving more than a little bit here and there, we knew we had a chance." 

"If we hadn't met Peter..." Dawn looks at Spike. "You guys might never have found us." 

It's his fault they met Peter, Spike thinks, but on the other hand it's a good thing they did. He doesn't think Dawn would still be alive if they hadn't. 

"Well it's not like we were going to stop looking," Xander says. "We'd have caught up with you sooner or later. But I can't say I was sad when you decided to stay put for a while." 

"Me either," Dawn says. She sounds wistful. "I mean, it was nice to have somewhere safe to be." 

Spike snorts. "Safe if you think bunking up with the Boston Strangler's a good idea," he says. 

"Why did you stop there?" Wesley asks from the other couch. Spike glances over at him and sees that his eyes are closed, like he's getting ready to drop off to sleep. 

Dawn looks at Spike again, and for a minute he thinks maybe she wants him to tell it. But then she says, "I was kind of sick." 

"Sick?" Xander's trying to sound casual, Spike's sure of it despite the fact that he's not succeeding. "Sick how? Like food poisoning?" 

Dawn is looking down at the rug she's sitting on. 

"She was pregnant," Spike says. "Lost it." He can see from her eyes when she looks up again that it was the right way to say it. Some words hurt more than others. 

"Pregnant?" Xander says. "But you... how..." 

"I'm pretty sure you can figure out how," Dawn says, a little bit flatly. "It just happened, okay? Anyway, it's over now." 

They're quiet again. Spike sees Xander start to reach out to Dawn, like he's going to pat her shoulder or something, then pull his hand back without touching her. 

"I'm sorry," Harris says finally. "I didn't... I don't know what to say." 

"Don't have to say anything," Spike tells him, shifting slightly on the couch and wincing as his slowly healing gut wound twinges painfully. "It's in the past. Talking about it doesn't change it." 

Dawn gives him that look again, gratitude with a little touch of hero worship in it, the look that Spike likes so well. "I'm gonna go to the bathroom again," she says, straightening up off the floor and moving to take the lantern they've shut off to conserve batteries with her. 

When she's gone, Xander says it. "She was raped." It's not a question. He knows the answer, just wants confirmation. 

"Yeah," Spike says. "Bunch of guys. Before we even left Sunnydale." 

"God," Xander says. Then again, softer this time. "God." 

"I'm thinking he left the picture a long time ago, if he ever existed in the first place," Spike says. 

The fire spits and pops, and Xander turns to add another log before propping the screen in front of it. "Yeah," he says, like it's a revelation. "Yeah, I think you're right." 

* * * * *

When Dawn comes back from the bathroom, they're all quiet. Worn out, Spike thinks. She brings some blankets and pillows with her, a big armful, and gives some to Wesley and Xander before coming over to Spike's couch. 

He shifts so that she can curl up with him, draping the blanket over them both as she sighs and rests her head on his shoulder. 

"Am I hurting you?" she whispers. 

Not exactly comfortable, even if she's not lying right on his healing wound, but he wants to hold her, so he shakes his head and after a moment she relaxes against him. "Might not be the best place to sleep," he says softly. "You could take one of the other couches, maybe?" Not that he's trying to get rid of her, but she needs the rest. 

"No, I want to stay with you," Dawn says. The sentiment warms him as much as her body does. "I mean... we could go upstairs, there's bedrooms and everything..." She yawns. "But I think we should all stay together." 

"Yeah. S'all right. Go to sleep now." 

Within minutes she's just about snoring on his shoulder. He shifts her a bit so that he doesn't have to listen to it, and she sniffles and settles back into a quieter sleep. 

Spike lies there for a long time. Wesley falls asleep next, heavily, his breathing steady. Takes Harris a lot longer, over on the other couch, tossing and turning for more than an hour before finally dropping off. Something about lying there and listening to the three of them sleep is soothing, but it doesn't make him want to sleep himself. 

He thinks about how Xander and Wesley followed them, looking for Dawn, wanting her safe. It makes him feel confused, know that they care about her that much \-- or maybe only Harris does, and Wesley was just along for the ride. Although Spike gets the distinct feeling that there's been some riding on both sides of that equation. That surprises him -- not that Xander would want to, because he always suspected the urge was lurking there underneath the surface, like if it was denied long enough it'd wither and die, but that Xander would act on it. 

End of the world makes you think about what's really important though, doesn't it. 

Spike dozes off then, in and out for a few hours. Next time he wakes up properly, he knows right away that something made him wake up. A sound, something. He doesn't tense up much -- figures the four of them are a match for plenty of situations, even with his gut aching. He just stays still and listens. 

Then relaxes as he realizes what it is. 

"Shh," Xander whispers. "Here, just..." There's the soft hush of fabric on fabric, a slight grunt -- also from Harris, Spike thinks -- and then a sigh. "There. You okay?" 

"Yes," Wesley says. 

The voices are quiet, but Spike expects they'd be plenty loud enough for Dawn to hear if she were awake, so he doesn't move. He can't see them from where he is, but he picture it plain as day -- Harris on the same couch he'd been on, only now with Wesley draped on top of him. 

"You're not going to be able to sleep like this," Xander says. 

"It doesn't matter. I wasn't sleeping anyway." Wesley sighs again. It sounds like a combination of pain and exhaustion. 

"I know." Spike can hear the gentle brush of a hand slipping between shirt and skin, rubbing soothingly. "Shh. It's okay." Wordless murmurs, then the soft sounds of kissing. 

Spike lies there with Dawn cradled in his arms and drifts back to sleep. 

When he wakes up again it's morning, and Dawn is standing next to the couch. He's cold, his skin where she was warming him until a minute ago more sensitive to the touch of the air now that she's gone. Spike looks up at her face, and she's got a bit of a deer in headlights expression, staring. 

He sits up and looks where she's looking. Harris is on his back on the sofa with Wesley stretched out on top of him, Wesley's head cradled on his shoulder. Doesn't look comfortable, but Spike knows the emotional comfort is something else entirely. 

"They're..." Dawn whispers. She sounds surprised, but not upset. 

She doesn't really need an answer, so Spike just says, "Let them sleep, yeah?" 

"Yeah, okay." She nods toward the hallway behind him. "I'll be right back." 

Spike listens to her go off and shut the bathroom door. He rubs a hand over the mostly healed wound in his gut, feels the sensitive skin of the exit wound on his back. On the other couch, Wesley and Xander stir, then struggle to a sitting position awkwardly as they realize that Spike's awake and that Dawn must have seen them. 

"Hey," Xander says, looking everywhere but at Spike. "We must've... um..." 

"Relax, Harris," Spike says, amused. "I'm the last person you're gonna get grief from on that front." Wesley is looking at him speculatively, but doesn't say anything. No reason to think he hasn't guessed -- he's obviously not stupid, and if he was that close to Angel, chances are good he's been able to put two and two together to come up with five. 

"What about Dawn?" Xander asks. 

"She didn't disown the witches, did she?" Truth be told, Spike's not quite sure _what_ Dawn thinks, but either way he figures she'll come around. 

Xander's eye goes a little bit flat. It's almost enough to make Spike sorry for mentioning them. "Yeah, but... that was different," Xander says. 

"Don't see why." Spike shrugs and then winces as the movement pulls at his gut. It occurs to him that it's a shame Harris didn't figure this out a year or two ago, when it would have made really spectacular blackmail material. 

Instead of trying to explain how it's different -- thank fuck -- Xander says, "You really don't think she's going to freak out?" just as Dawn comes back, and Spike tries to hide his smirk. 

"Freak out about what?" Dawn asks. 

He might as well have some fun with it. "The fact that Harris and Wesley here are apparently shagging each other stupid whenever we're not looking." He glances at Xander's open mouthed expression and his smirk widens -- it's what this is about, seeing how Xander reacts. "Well okay, stupider, in Xander's case." 

Dawn gives him a funny look. "Uh-huh." She looks at Xander and repeats, "Why would that make me freak out?" 

"It's not like that," Xander says, glaring at Spike. If he had ten bucks for every time someone'd glared at him, he'd have been rich by now... and yeah, okay, it wouldn't have done him a bit of good, not with the way the world's turned out. Harris is trying to explain to Dawn, who doesn't look like she needs an explanation. "We're, you know..." 

"We care about each other," Wesley says, coming to Xander's rescue. 

"Well duh," Dawn says, pushing her hair back and putting her hands on her hips. "So what's for breakfast?" 

* * * * *

They're back in the car an hour later, driving again. 

She's sorry that they have to leave the house, but it's not like they can stay. Spike needs blood, for one thing, and even if they can ever really settle down anywhere, it's not going to be in some big house in the middle of nowhere. Well, unless it was a farmhouse or something. Dawn doesn't think that would be bad idea actually \-- there could be, like, cows and things, for them to eat, and for Spike to get blood from. 

Thinking of which, he's got to be hungry, even though he's not saying anything about it. Which isn't like him. He has that look though. Dawn feels guilty that she has this perfectly good -- well, totally gross, but not to Spike \-- blood leaking out of her, and Spike needs it but there's nothing she can do. The thought of him licking down there makes her squirm on the seat next to him, and Spike's hand comes down on her thigh, squeezes, and Dawn just about comes in her seat. 

Spike looks over at her, and she's pretty sure from his expression that he can tell exactly what she's thinking. She blushes and quickly says, "I wanted to go to New Orleans, but Spike said no." Anything for a new train of thought, right? 

"I have to say I agree with him," Wesley says. He's still in the passenger seat, even though he said he could drive if Xander wanted him to, but he looks better than he did the day before. Not as pale and looking like he might throw up any second. "The city's probably crawling with vampires." 

Xander says, "What we want to do is find somewhere safe to settle down. Somewhere the vampires won't want to go." 

" _I_ didn't want to go to New Orleans," Spike points out. 

"I mean _normal_ vampires," Xander says. 

"Now I'm not normal? Like you've got so much basis for comparison." Spike sounds offended, but Dawn can tell it's a fake kind of offended. 

"Hey, I had Angel hanging around mooning after Buffy in Sunnydale for, what, three years?" Xander says. 

Wesley is sitting funny in the front seat, and everybody else is quiet. 

"Hey, he could still be alive, right?" Dawn asks hopefully, leaning forward. "Or, you know... still undead, or whatever. Maybe he's trying to figure out a way to get back to L.A. right now." 

"There won't be anything for him to find if he does," Wesley says. "Well... I did leave notes in a few places, spell-protected, just in case... but I don't think there's much hope." Dawn can tell by his voice that he really cared about Angel, and she wonders what that means to Xander, who never liked Angel, not really. She wonders if that's like a sticking point between them. 

Six hours, one pee-break -- with Dawn silently thanking the Goddess of tampons -- and one lunch stop later, she's thinking that finding somewhere to settle down soon would be a good thing, if only because it would get her out of riding in a car with three men. Once Xander and Spike get past their little snark-fest, they just egg each other on toward worse and worse behavior. At one point there'd been almost a straight hour of dirty limericks, with Wesley supplying his fair share -- okay, maybe with a little bit less evil grinning than the other two, but still. It's like junior high all over again, which is seriously scary. 

"There once was a man from Nantucket..." Spike starts, and Dawn can't take it anymore. 

"Stop! Stop." 

Spike turns his head and looks at her. "What?" he says, sounding surprised. 

He can't be that stupid. Can he? "Enough with the limericks," Dawn says. "I think my brain melted." She leans forward between the front seats. "I want chocolate. Can we stop somewhere and get some?" 

Xander exchanges a glance with Wesley, one of those Oh-God, female-hormones kind of looks, which makes Dawn want to smack him. 

"There are some chocolate bars under your seat," Wesley says. 

"Ooh, really?" Dawn starts to rummage underneath her, pulling out a cardboard box that's almost falling apart and looking through it. 

"Um..." Xander says, and Dawn looks up. "Yeah, actually, there aren't." 

"There were at least a dozen the other day," Wesley says. 

"And yet now, not so much," Xander says, looking straight ahead at the road. 

Dawn is surprised that Spike isn't saying anything through this, but he just looks into the box -- which, yeah, doesn't have any candy bars in it -- and then slides it back under the seat where it came from. The thing that doesn't surprise her is that Xander ate them. "So, can we stop somewhere?" 

They're on a long road that's not a highway, or at least not what Dawn thinks of as a highway. Sometimes there are strip malls and things, but they haven't seen any signs of life at all. It's still a couple of hours until sunset, and she figures if they're going to stop, this would be as good a time as any. 

In another minute, Xander slows down and puts on his turn signal. 

"There's no one around for miles," Spike says, making a sound like he's choking on stupidity. 

Xander glances back over his shoulder at them. "So?" 

"So what are you putting the bloody indicator on for?" 

Xander shrugs as he pulls the car into the parking lot of the big drug store. "I don't know. It seems like the thing to do." 

Dawn thinks she gets it. "It's, like, proving it," she says. "That we can still do things right, even if everything's wrong." 

There are two other cars in the parking lot, but they both look like they've been there a really long time. Xander pulls right up underneath the overhang \-- so that the car's half on the sidewalk -- and shuts off the engine. "Driving Miss Dawnie," he says, tipping an imaginary hat, and Dawn giggles despite herself. 

"Dork," she says affectionately. 

The inside of the drug store smells gross -- not like rotted stuff, but like the air is all stale and dusty. Actually, everything's pretty dusty. 

"Wait here," Wesley says, while they're still blinking and waiting for their eyes to adjust, and he walks along the front of each aisle, looking down. "It seems all right," he says, coming back and picking up one of the plastic baskets. "Just be careful. And quick." He and Xander disappear down one aisle, talking about first aid supplies. 

Dawn and Spike grin at each other. 

"Chocolate," she says. 

Spike shakes his head and gestures at the wall of cigarettes behind the cash registers. The locks are mostly broken and some of the cases are spilling out, but there are plenty of boxes left. 

She wants to stay close by, and anyway there's a whole display of candy bars in front of the checkout stand, so Dawn grabs a basket and starts to fill it with candy, hoping that the chocolate is still okay after sitting out all this time. 

"Chocolate doesn't go bad, does it?" she asks. 

Spike finishes jumping over the counter and surveys the cartons of cigarettes. "Wouldn't think so," he says. He turns around and looks behind the registers, then he takes a big plastic bag and starts to load it up with cartons. "Why?" he asks. "Does it smell off?" 

Dawn lifts a wrapped bar to her nose and inhales. "No, it smells okay." 

"Probably okay then." Spike shrugs, steps back. "No lighters," he says, sounding frustrated. He jumps back over the counter, leaving the bag sitting on it. 

"Maybe they're all out?" Dawn asks doubtfully. 

Spike shakes his head. "I don't think so. Must be in one of the aisles. Come on." 

She doesn't want to stay at the front of the store all by herself -- maybe being cooped up at the school for so long made her paranoid, or something -- so she follows Spike, the basket full of candy bumping against her leg as she walks. It doesn't take long to find a display with lighters. 

"Here, take these too," Spike says, tossing some lighters and a box of matchbooks on top of the chocolate. "Never know when they could come in handy." 

Dawn can't help thinking about that other drug store, when she found out she was pregnant, and how crazy that had been. 

"Anything else you need while we're here?" Spike asks, stepping closer to her and sliding an arm around her waist. She lifts her face up and he kisses her, with his lips all hard and demanding the way she likes it. When he kisses her like that, she believes that he really wants her. "I can smell you, you know," he says in a low voice, and his hand slides up and cups her breast, his thumb rubbing over her nipple. "All that hot blood between your legs." 

She can feel her cheeks flush, but she always loves it when he touches her, even when she's all blushy and doesn't know what to say. 

"You know what I'd do if we were alone?" Spike asks. 

Dawn thinks she can guess, but before she can say anything, they hear Wesley's voice call to them. "Are you both all right?" 

"Fine!" Spike shouts back, and she can hear the irritation in his voice. "Bloody Watchers," he mutters. 

"He just wants to make sure we're okay," Dawn protests. 

Spike lets go of her, stepping back and making this noise like he's really frustrated. "There'd be plenty of yelling if we weren't, don't you think?" He says it loud enough that Wesley and Xander can probably hear him. 

She's torn between loyalty to Spike and wanting to defend Xander and Wesley, who so far have been pretty cool, all things considered. That moment of indecision on her part makes Spike snort and throw his arms down, and he turns and starts toward the front of the store. 

"I'll be in the sodding car," he says, not looking back at her or anything. 

Dawn sighs. What is it with guys and being so difficult? Is it some territorial thing? She's not even sure she wants to know. 

She follows Wesley and Xander's voices two aisles down. They've got an almost full basket of bandages and cold packs and antibiotic cream and stuff, and Wesley is still looking at other boxes on the shelves. "Where's Spike?" he asks. 

"He's waiting in the car," Dawn says. 

Xander gives her a funny look, but doesn't say anything. Maybe guys have brain cells sometimes. 

"Well, why don't you and Xander go and see if there are any torches -- er, flashlights -- and batteries?" Wesley sounds distracted, which for some reason makes him sound more British instead of less. 

"I was gonna look for food," Xander says, like he's reminding Wesley. 

Wesley looks up at him and smiles. "I forgot. All right, why don't you do that and I'll go with Dawn." 

They don't touch each other as they go their separate ways, and Dawn wonders if they would have if she hadn't been there. She should probably say something at some point about that, so they know she doesn't care. 

She and Wesley have to go almost to the back of the store to find the flashlight spot, and once they do most of the flashlights are long gone. Looted. There are two little ones, so she takes them -- they're better than nothing, right? -- and Wesley turns and starts putting the few packages of batteries that are left on top of the first aid stuff in his basket. 

Dawn gets that weird thing all of a sudden, that thing where the little hairs on the back of her neck stand up, and she turns her head really, really slowly, telling herself that when she looks there won't be anything there. 

In the darkness at the back corner of the store, she can see two glowing yellow-green eyes, kind of like a cat's eyes. Only these eyes are six feet off the ground, and then there's this clicking, growling kind of noise, and Dawn reaches for Wesley's arm without taking her gaze off it for a second, even though really all she wants to do is run. "Wesley," she says. 

And thank god, Wesley doesn't say "Hm" or ignore her. He turns and looks in the same direction she's looking, and the demon steps forward where they can really see it, and it's huge and wrinkly and its face is kind of ridged, and it's gross. 

"Oh dear," Wesley says. 

The demon moves at them in a flash, so quick that Dawn can't even tell what's happening, and all she can do is scream Spike's name. 

* * * * *

Spike doesn't go as far as the car -- he stops right outside the building, under the awning, and leans up against the wall. Rips open one of the cartons of smokes, opens a box, lights a fag, inhales. 

Sometimes he thinks the only reason he likes to smoke is because it's so much like breathing. 

He knows he's acting like a prat, storming off on Dawn when she didn't do anything to deserve it, but he can already tell that being cooped up in a car isn't going to be any better than being cooped up at the school was. Although -- and chances are good he won't admit this ever, or at the very least for a really long time -- Harris is a better verbal sparring partner than Peter ever would have been. And Wesley... well, Wesley's all right. It's grudging praise. 

He's halfway through the fag when he hears Dawn start to scream, and it's only a second later, as he's slamming through the doors with enough force that one of them shatters, that he hears the gunshots. He's between the aisles when they stop, and then there are too many sounds to sort out -- Dawn still screaming, the sound of a demon growling -- no, snarling -- someone else shouting, crashing noises. 

And then the unmistakable sound of a man's hoarse screaming as he rounds the corner, and the hot wash of blood fills Spike's senses. Wesley's down on the floor, writhing, but Spike can't spare him more than a glance because he needs to get the big demon away from Dawn, who doesn't seem capable of doing anything but standing there as it turns toward her. 

He pulls her out of the way, quick and not at all gentle, and punches the thing in the gut. Takes all the skin off his knuckles doing it too, although at least the demon doubles over. It's got a big horn on its head, and Spike thinks vaguely that he's seen one of these before, even if right now he's too busy to sort out when or where. Too much going on at once, and he's aware of Dawn and the other two behind him, something going on there, breathing heavy, sounds... all of it just adds to the chaos, and he can feel the power surging through him like he's channeling everything in the room. 

The demon's upright again and moving towards him. Spike doesn't want to step out of the way because the thing will end up going right for Dawn, so he turns, backing up, luring the demon in the other direction. 

"That's it, you big ugly brute," he says with a wide sneer, figuring the creature can't understand what he's saying anyway. "Come on." 

It moves a hell of a lot faster than he would have given it credit for, slamming into him and driving him back into the shelves behind him. They collapse down on top of both of them, spilling plastic bottles of pills everywhere, and Spike can't roll because the demon's bulk is weighing him down. He kicks it instead, and the demon grunts and gets up, stomps a foot toward into Spike's midsection that he manages to scramble far enough away from that it smashes into his pelvis instead. Just about feels the bones crack, but he can't pause. 

Spike rolls to his feet, wishing for a weapon of some kind, any kind, He hits the demon in the gut again, since that worked out pretty well the first time other than the bleeding knuckles thing, and when it wheezes and clicks something at him, he turns and grabs onto the edge of one of the fallen shelves, using all his strength to wrench the piece of metal free. 

The demon straightens up a bit, and Spike swings the shelf at its head, hitting it flat on, making it stagger. He can feel the reverberation all through his frame, jarring. "Like that, do you?" he asks, watching the demon try to recover. He takes advantage of the moment when the demon shakes its head to clear it to swing the shelf again, only this time he changes the angle so the shelf becomes a giant blade, slicing through the air and demon flesh, cutting a huge gash in the thing's chest. 

Another set of clicks and snarls -- stupid thing doesn't even have a proper language -- and blood all over the floor, yellowish and oozing. The demon just about slips in its own blood, and again Spike takes advantage of the brief moment in which the creature is off guard to swing the shelf, only this time he's learned his lesson. Uses the sharpest edge and aims for the throat, and his blow just about cuts the demon's head off -- goes three quarters of the way through its neck. There's a burble, but no more of those clicks, as the demon wavers and falls to the floor, hitting hard. 

It takes a good few seconds for Spike to realize that even though the fight's over, the building's far from quiet, and when he turns he sees why. 

Wesley's on the floor, struggling with Xander. Spike needs another few seconds to sort out what his eyes are telling him -- that Xander's trying to hold Wesley, who's making some of the worst sounds Spike's ever heard come out of a human, because his left arm's gone above the elbow, and there's a growing pool of blood underneath them both. Harris is trying to staunch the flow, but it doesn't look like he's having much luck. 

Dawn's standing to the side, both hands pressed over her mouth, but her look of horror's nothing compared to Xander's when he glances up at Spike, desperate, haunted. 

There's no time for hesitation here. Xander and Wesley might be humans, but damn it, they're _Spike's_ humans, just like Dawn is, and he'll be damned if they're going to die if he has anything to say about it. 

He turns to Dawn, grabbing her by both shoulders and giving her a little shake to get her attention. "Bandages," he says. 

"There," Harris says, surprising Spike with his ability to pay attention to anything other than the writhing man in his arms. He nods toward some supplies that are scattered across the floor not far off. 

Dawn blinks, then she seems to snap out of it and flings herself onto her hands and knees, dumping out the rest of the contents of the basket that's lying on its side, looking. 

Spike gets down on the floor next to Xander and grabs hold of Wesley, keeping him still. "Tighten that if you want it to do any good," he says, referring to the belt Xander's got wrapped around what's left of Wesley's arm. "I've got him." 

"It's gonna be okay," Xander says, doing like Spike told him, hands slippery with blood fighting to get a good hold on the leather. "Wesley? It's okay." 

Not much point in talking to him, Spike doesn't think -- all the struggle's gone out of Wesley now as shock settles in. His skin -- where it's not covered with blood, at any rate -- is cool and clammy, his breathing impossibly fast. The blood's still pouring out of him, and Spike knows if they don't get it stopped, and fast, it's all going to be over. 

Dawn skitters over, pale but with her hands full of gauze packets. 

"Won't be enough," Spike says, barely noting her frantic look. 

"We have to do _something_ ," Harris says, grabbing a handful of the gauze and pressing it over the bleeding stump of Wesley's arm -- Spike wonders where the hell it went -- and biting his lip. 

God, the smell of the blood is fucking glorious. 

Wesley's body is tense in Spike's arms, like he's holding himself still by sheer force of a will Spike doesn't think's gonna last much longer. "Cauterize," he says tightly, and it's clear that the one word costs him a lot. 

Xander's one eye meets Spike's, then flickers back to Wesley's face. "With what?" 

Knowing from the way Wesley feels against him that no answer's going to come, Spike thinks about their options. Wesley might know the right sorts of chemicals to do the job, but the rest of them won't, and chances aren't good any of that stuff would be available here anyway. He listens hard -- should have done that before, should have checked out the whole place before assuming it was safe \-- and then nods. "Go look," he says, to both Harris and Dawn, pushing Xander's hand out of the way and replacing it with his own. "Break into the back rooms and find something. Whatever might work. Go!" 

Harris has enough sense to get up immediately, not wasting any time. "Come on, Dawn." 

They disappear around the corner within seconds, leaving Spike alone with Wesley a dying meal in his arms. 

* * *

There's nothing they can use in the first aid section, not that Dawn really thought there'd be. It's not like it's a hospital supply shop or something, and band-aids aren't going to do it. Xander is knocking everything onto the floor, using both hands to sweep stuff off the shelves like he thinks he might find something that way. It reminds Dawn of how Buffy used to search through the refrigerator shelves looking for something good to eat, like maybe there'd be something really good behind that bottle of olives -- well, except for the throwing everything onto the floor. Buffy didn't do that. 

She realizes that her hands are shaking, but she's trying not to think about what's happening. She's never heard anybody scream like Wesley was screaming for those first few seconds, when she still didn't even know what was wrong -- the sound of it made her feel more sick than looking at him did, what with all the blood and the... 

Okay, she really can't think about this. 

Xander growls and slams his fist into a shelf. "Fuck!" 

"It'll be okay," Dawn tells him quickly, scared because if Xander is freaking out, she doesn't know how they're going to find anything to help. "We'll find something." 

Brushing off her tentative hand on his arm, Xander heads toward the back of the store, breaking into a stumbling run, and Dawn follows him. 

She really hopes there aren't any more monsters back there. 

* * *

"My... fault," Wesley says. His voice's barely above a whisper, his breathing still quick and shallow, like he's really working at it. 

"Shh," Spike says, tightening his grip on the end of Wesley's arm. Wesley doesn't seem to feel it -- Spike thinks maybe there's too much nerve damage for that. The pain's gotta be everywhere, so this one spot's no worse or better than any other. "Wasn't your fault." 

Wesley rolls his head where it's resting against Spike's chest, like he's saying no, but at least he's got the sense to save the rest of his breath for what really matters. 

He's still bleeding, and the smell of it is dragging Spike into a place he doesn't want to go, not here, not now. "You're gonna be okay." 

Wesley twitches in his arms, and it takes Spike a few seconds to realize he's laughing. "You're..." Wesley coughs, shudders, "a terrible liar." 

"I've seen people get through worse than this," Spike says, and that part's the truth. 

"If I won't..." Sounds like Wesley is choosing his words carefully, trying to conserve energy. "You don't turn me. Don't even think about it." 

Spike wouldn't have. "Not a chance, mate. It wouldn't be what anyone would want. Not you, not Harris... and if you think I'd do anything to put Dawn in danger, you don't know me at all." 

Wesley takes another shuddering breath, and makes a terrible soft sound on the exhale. Under almost any other circumstances, from anyone else, Spike would have liked to hear it. "Good," he whispers. 

Besides, Spike thinks, if Wesley dies, there's no way Spike's giving even a drop of whatever blood's left in him at that point back. 

* * *

It takes Xander like six tries to get into the locked room at the back of the store by slamming his shoulder into it. Dawn winces as the edge of the door finally gives with a splintering sound, and then they're in. 

"Check over there," Xander says, pointing off to the right. 

Dawn goes, her eyes scanning everything they can focus on. It's pretty dark, and they didn't think to take any flashlights with them, but once she gets close enough to stuff, she can see. It's, like, the store room for the pharmacy or something. There's tons of smallish cardboard boxes, but when she pulls them down to look through them they just contain bottles of pills and stuff. Medicine. Which might come in handy later, sure, but right now they aren't much help. 

She drops the box she's holding onto the floor and turns, keeps looking. Nothing. More and more boxes, and more boxes, and some rolls of paper towels, and... well okay, maybe those might be better than nothing. Dawn tucks two rolls under her arm. 

"There's nothing here!" she calls to Xander -- she doesn't know where he is, exactly, but she can hear him crashing around nearby. Almost as soon as she says it she feels like kicking herself -- way to be positive and hopeful \-- but then Xander appears in the doorway with a funny yellow canister thing in his hands. 

"Yeah there is," he says. He flicks something on the thing and clicks it, and it shoots out this little blue flame. 

* * *

Wesley's breathing too fast, too labored. Spike doesn't like the sound of it. 

He does like hearing the running footsteps as Dawn and Xander come back though. She's got a couple of rolls of paper towels and Harris has a propane torch. "We found these," Dawn says. 

"Good," Spike says, looking at Xander because he's the one who's gonna have to do it. "Used one of those before?" 

"Yeah," Xander says, his hands tightening on the propane canister. 

"Well, stop wasting time and get down here then." 

But Harris just stands there, holding onto the torch and, Spike thinks, sweating. Wesley is still tense against him -- not unconscious yet, although Spike's sure he will be soon, one way or the other. Doesn't think Wesley knows what's going on, though -- or if he does, he's got the sense to stay quiet about it, let it play out on its own. 

"Xander," Spike says, giving his voice a hard edge, hoping to get through to the part of Harris that can handle anything. "Get the fuck down here and do this." 

Xander swallows. "I can't." 

"You bloody well can," Spike tells him. "And you're going to. Someone's got to hold him steady, and there's no way in hell you'd be able to do it." 

"I _can't_." 

Disgusted, Spike starts to say fine, we'll just let him bleed to death then, guilt the boy into action, but Dawn speaks up before he can open his mouth. 

"I'll do it," she says. 

Spike and Xander both turn their heads to look at her. 

Dawn pushes her hair back behind her ears. Her lips are set tight, and her hands are clenched into fists, but the way she says it doesn't leave any room for argument. She relaxes one hand and holds it out toward Xander, gesturing at him to hurry up and pass the torch over already. "I can do it." 

* * *

What's going on inside Dawn's head is pretty much 'Oh god, oh god, oh god.' 

Not in an _actual_ god kind of way -- she gave up on God as a concept when Glory killed Buffy. Okay, maybe Glory wasn't the one to do the actual killing, but it was Glory's fault. That's what Dawn tells herself when she doesn't want to believe that it's her own, anyway, which is most of the time. There might be, like, _gods_ , but there isn't one up there in the clouds watching over them. She's sure of that. 

Anyway, it's more like a personal mantra than a religious thing, and that's just because she can't think of what else to repeat to herself when things start to go wrong. She'll think of something better some other time, when she's not kneeling down on a hard tile floor that's slippery with blood, when she's not shaking with fear and disbelief, when Xander isn't pacing behind her with his hand over his mouth, muttering something that's she's pretty sure _is_ a religious thing and, she thinks, crying. 

Dawn looks at the torch thing, which doesn't seem too hard to use, then she blinks and thinks about it for a second. "Wait. Aren't we supposed to use, you know, metal? Or something?" There's this image in her head of, like, hot pokers. Brands. 

Spike blinks like he hadn't even thought of that. It makes her want to smack him. A hundred and whatever years, and _she's_ the one who has to think of everything? "Harris," Spike says. "You see anything that might work while you were back there?" 

"No. I was a little bit busy looking for something to set my boyfriend on _fire_ with," Xander says, stopping the pacing and looking at them wide-eyed. 

There's a tiny twinge in Dawn's heart at the word 'boyfriend' -- that's so cute -- but it's obvious that Xander's totally freaking out, so she's more focused on that. "Okay, think. Something metal, with a flat edge..." 

Wesley stirs in Spike's grip with a low moan like he can't help it. "Gun," he says, without opening his eyes. 

Oh god. She's been hoping maybe he was unconscious -- she really, really doesn't want to do this to him when he's awake. Please, please let him pass out in the next five minutes. Please. 

She and Xander look around until they find the gun Wesley used before -- it's still a little bit warm actually, and Dawn knows that it's empty because she heard the last two 'clicks' right before the demon slammed into Wesley and... right. She's _so_ not thinking about it could have been her instead. 

But the whole gun is metal, and there's no way she's going to be able to hold it while it gets hot enough to... do the thing it's going to need to do. "I need an oven mitt," she says out loud, then realizes that chances are good there are some in whatever kitchen aisle there is. 

"What?" Xander says. 

"An oven mitt. Go find one." Dawn kneels back down on the floor next to Spike and Wesley as Xander goes off. 

Spike's hands are both busy, but when he looks at her she can tell that he wishes he could hug her or pat her shoulder or something else comforting. And it's actually just as well that he can't, because if anyone's nice to her now, she's totally going to lose it. She has to concentrate until this is done. She has to. 

"You can do this," Spike says. 

"I know." 

"You're my girl. You can do anything you set your mind to." 

"I _know_ ," Dawn says, reading the instructions that are on the sticker on the side of the torch again. It's easy, like a really big lighter -- flick the little safety valve off, then click the torch on. Piece of cake. 

The gun, when she looks at it carefully, isn't as straightforward. If the point of this is to stop the bleeding, then she needs something flat to hold against the wound, and no part of the gun is big enough or flat enough. That means it's going to take longer, because she's going to have to do it more than once, which is totally unfair. Isn't once going to be hard enough? 

Xander comes back with an armful of oven mitts and two long barbecue utensils with wooden handles. They're like long spatulas or something. "What about these?" he says, dropping everything onto the floor next to her. "I thought..." 

"I don't know," Dawn says, picking one up and looking at it. She glances at Spike. 

"I think the gun's the way to go," Spike says. "Better leverage, and it's heavier. It'll hold the heat longer." 

She's thinking too fast -- her head is spinning, and she can feel blood soaking into the dead girl's khakis she's wearing, making her knees damp. The smell of it is sickening, but she knows it's going to be much worse in a few minutes. 

Deciding to go with the gun, Dawn sets it down on the tile floor. "Will this stuff burn?" she asks, rapping her knuckles against the cool tile. 

"Eventually," Xander says. "But it should be okay." 

"Okay." She takes a deep breath, grabs one of the oven mitts and rests it on her thigh, and lights the torch. It seems to work pretty fast -- the metal barrel of the gun goes from shiny gray to red hot in less than a minute. 

"Get down here and hold his legs," she hears Spike say to Xander, and Xander does, kneeling down at Wesley's feet. 

Dawn doesn't think there's any point to warning Wesley, so she just does it -- puts down the torch, slides her hand into the oven mitt, and picks up the gun. Spike is watching her, and he must be able to see what she needs because he moves his hand out of the way at just the right time. 

She presses the metal to the middle of the stump, not letting her eyes dart away when they want to because she needs to make sure she does this right. She tries not to smell the burning blood and flesh, not to see the wisps of smoke as the blood bubbles away. Tries not to notice how Spike and Xander have to struggle to hold Wesley as he arches his body in those first few seconds. 

Tries not to hear his scream. 

But they're lucky actually. (She reminds herself of this later, later that night when she can't sleep for remembering the stuff she tries so hard not to see.) After those first few seconds, Wesley goes limp, passes out. 

Xander is crying almost silently, doubled up over Wesley's legs, his face mostly hidden, by the time it's done. Dawn thinks she did as good a job as she could, considering she had to stop once in the middle to heat the gun up again, and, you know, that she had no idea what she was doing. But the bleeding's stopped, other than a slow seeping through the burned flesh, and that's what's important. 

Now, if Wesley just doesn't die from blood loss, or infection, or demon goo in the wound, or any of a million other things Dawn probably doesn't know about... 

"Good girl," Spike says approvingly as she slides the torch and gun away across the floor, watching as they both draw a little trail of blood in their wake. He shifts Wesley's limp body in his arms, looks at the stump, and nods. "Yeah, that oughta do it." 

"Yeah." Dawn wipes her mouth on her sleeve. There's a sick taste in the back of her throat, and she feels shaky and gross. "What do we do now? Bandage it up?" 

"Probably," Spike agrees. "But the real question is, do we stay here or move on and look for somewhere better to hole up for a bit?" 

Dawn isn't sure. "Well, there's medicine here. There's probably antibiotics and burn cream and all kinds of other first aid stuff. Stuff we might need. Maybe we should stay until..." She bites her lip, then she continues, "until Wesley's better." 

"Harris? What do you think?" Spike asks. Dawn is surprised that he's asking Xander, but not in a bad way. 

Xander rubs his knuckles under his eye quickly, and when he looks up he has blood smeared on his cheek. Actually, now that Dawn really looks at him, he's got blood pretty much everywhere -- on his hands, on his clothes. They all do. "I don't know," he says. His voice is hoarse, like he's the one who's been screaming. "Stay, I guess. Until we can look through the pills and stuff anyway." 

"We'll need blankets," Dawn says. She thinks there's at least one in the car. "There's water and food here." She looks at Wesley doubtfully, feeling the hard tile underneath her hands. 

She's not sure whether to be insanely happy or completely freaked out when it seems like Spike reads her mind. "Need to get some kind of proper bed. A mattress. Something," he says. 

"I think there was a department store just up ahead when we stopped here," Dawn says. "They might have something." Which brings up the fun question of who gets to go and who gets to stay behind. 

Xander's hand is stroking over Wesley's leg, kind of like he's not even aware he's doing it. "I'll go," he says, getting up, not really looking at Dawn or Spike. "You two stay here. Make sure he's okay." He's staring at Wesley's face. 

"You're not going alone," Dawn says. "No way. There's no way to know what might be in there. One person going alone... that doesn't make any sense." She thinks quickly, trying to figure out what _does_ make sense. "Spike could go with you." 

"Have you lost your bloody mind?" Spike looks like he wants to drop Wesley onto the floor and stand up, but luckily he doesn't do that. "I'm not leaving you here to get hurt." 

Dawn rubs her bloodied hands on the thighs of her khakis \-- they're history anyway, no point in trying to minimize the damage -- and frowns determinedly. "No. You're not. You're leaving me here where I'll be fine." She wrinkles up her nose. "And you're leaving me here with some more of Wesley's guns. If anything happens -- which _nothing_ will -- I'll have protection. Right?" 

"I don't like it," Spike says. "I promised Buh -- " He cuts himself off, turning his head away with his jaw clenched, then he finishes, with a pause between each word, "I promised I'd keep you safe." 

Oh my god. Have they, or have they not had this conversation like three times already? "You know you can't." 

"Okay, can we save the meaningful realizations for some other time?" Xander breaks in, throwing his hands up into the air and sounding more like himself again. "Some other time when, oh, I don't know, we aren't in a hurry to get back here before the sun sets and all the monsters come out to play?" 

Dawn sighs -- Xander's right, and at this point she'd rather just agree than keep arguing about it. "Then Spike and I can go. That way you can stay here with Wesley." 

Spike nods, and after a minute Xander does too, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Okay. I'll stay here." He looks a lot less thrilled at the idea than Dawn thinks he should. 

He and Spike switch places, careful not to jostle Wesley as they lower him down onto the floor with Xander's sweater tucked under his head and shoulder. Dawn helps Xander figure out which bandages to use -- they don't want the gauze to get all stuck to the burns, but she's not sure how to prevent that from happening. Maybe there's a first aid book in the store somewhere. 

"Okay," Xander says, seeming better now that he has something to do. "You two get out of here before it gets any later." He glances up, meeting Dawn's worried gaze. "And be careful." 

* * *

Dawn and Spike get the car keys and find one of Wesley's other guns in the car to leave with Xander. Dawn has to drive because of the whole sun thing, even if it's going to set pretty soon, and she has a tight, miserable feeling in her stomach as they drive away from the drug store, leaving Xander and Wesley back there. 

She's still not a great driver, but they don't have far to go -- it's less than a mile to Walmart. Just seeing the big blue sign and the cheerful yellow smiley faces makes her feel a little bit better. 

"You stay right with me," Spike cautions as they go in through the doors. Right away there's the smell of rotting bodies, but it's not too bad -- they've smelled way worse. 

"I will," Dawn promises. "All I want to do is find what we need and get out of here." 

There are a lot of windows at the front of the store, but otherwise it's a big warehouse -- dark, the air stale. The camping section is way at the back, and Spike grabs an abandoned shopping cart as they pass it, taking it with them. 

"Mom had one of these when me and Buffy were little," Dawn says, gesturing at the selection of air mattresses. "Until this one time when Buffy thought it would be cool to play Supergirl, and we had to do this thing where we jumped off the coffee table onto the mattress, and we popped it. Mom was so pissed off." She trails off as she remembers that this isn't even a real memory. 

"Well toss one of them in here," Spike says, gesturing at the cart. "For that matter, get three or four. Might as well all be comfortable." He grabs some other boxes and throws them into the cart too, and Dawn gets into the spirit of things, pretending like everything is normal and they just hit the lottery or something. They get four sleeping bags and a couple of battery operated lanterns, and Spike sweeps most of the shelf of dehydrated food packets in on top. 

"It feels weird not to have to pay," Dawn admits as they walk out past the cash registers, rolling the cart around a body that seems to have stopped being stinky. At least, it doesn't smell any worse than the rest of the store. 

"Feels good," Spike says. The sun is setting, but he still has to dart quickly into the car to avoid the whole flamey thing. Once he's in there, he takes the boxes and other stuff as Dawn hands them to him, throwing them into the back seat. She passes over the last air mattress, gives the cart a shove away from the car, and reaches out to close the door for Spike, but he reaches out and grabs her wrist instead. 

With a squeal, Dawn is jerked into the car and into Spike's lap. She can feel that he's hard inside his jeans, poking against the back of her thigh, and she squirms as a hot rush goes through her, making her legs feel weak and heavy. 

Spike nuzzles her hair. "You all right?" 

And in that moment this is exactly where she wants to be, in a place where she can forget everything else, even if it's just for a second. "Yeah. I'm okay." 

"You were amazing back there," Spike says. "Bloody brilliant." 

Literally bloody, Dawn thinks. She's glad there are some clean clothes in the car, that she thought to take them from that picture perfect, pale peach bedroom. Maybe when they get back to the drug store she can clean up a little bit, get some of the blood off. "We should get back," she says, because she's still not ready to talk about this, or even think about it. 

"Yeah," Spike says. "Just want to do one thing first." He kisses her, running both hands over her body. One goes to the back of her neck, holding her there, and the other one down to her waist. It makes her shiver, and she opens her mouth to his, letting his tongue inside. "My girl," he says against her lips, his fingers tightening in her hair. 

That just makes Dawn squirm some more, mostly because she knows he'll gasp and kiss her harder, which he does. 

Guys can be so predictable. She wonders if they're like that with each other too, when it's two guys, and that thought makes her pull away because she remembers Xander and Wesley. "We should go," she says, but she squirms against Spike and kisses him one more time, clinging to him. Wishing that they could stay here and pretend none of this is happening. 

"Shh," Spike says, rubbing his thumb over her cheekbone. 

"What if... what if Wesley..." She can't finish. 

"He'll be fine," Spike says. Lies, more like. Any of them could die any time, and something big, like getting your arm... 

Dawn buries her face in Spike's neck and breathes in, feeling his arms tighten around her. Breathes some more, deep breaths, because that's supposed to make you feel better. 

And just because she can. 

They go back to the drug store, Dawn with a nervous fluttering in her stomach until they park the car and go in through the broken door. "It's us," she calls, not too loudly, but, she thinks, loudly enough that Xander will be able to hear her. 

"Hey," Xander says, as she and Spike walk down the aisle toward him and Wesley, who looks like he hasn't moved since they left. 

Xander, on the other hand, looks terrible -- blood-stained and exhausted -- but relieved to see them, and Dawn can't help it. She gets down on her knees next to him and puts her arms around him, hugging him fiercely, wanting to do something that will make him feel better. 

She feels Xander's arms tighten around her briefly, then he lets go again. "Don't," he says. "Just... I can't do this right now, okay?" 

Dawn swallows. "Okay. Right." She looks at Wesley's arm, now carefully bandaged with clean white gauze, only the tiniest bit of icky stuff oozing through. "It looks good," she says, noting that the edge of Wesley's shirt is ragged where it got ripped off. She wonders how much it will hurt him to have to change it. "He hasn't...?" 

"No," Xander says, glancing at her and then up at Spike, some kind of guy thing that Dawn doesn't get and probably never will passing between them. "No, he's just been... like this." 

"He'll be okay," Dawn says, with more hope than she feels. "Spike says..." 

"I've seen folks get through worse," Spike says helpfully, still standing there with an armload of air mattress boxes. 

"Great," Xander says. "I'm glad you were basing that on your many years as a vicious killer, and not on some newfound ability to see into the future." His voice is harsh, bitter, his emphasis on the word 'see' something that Dawn can't fail to notice, even though she'd really, really like to. 

Trying to keep the peace, Dawn says, "We found mattresses. And sleeping bags, and some food and stuff." 

Spike sets most of what he's holding onto the floor and rips open one box, flapping the mattress, then looking at the tile suspiciously. "Maybe we should move this over an aisle," he says, nodding at the drying blood on the floor. 

They end up inflating all four of the mattresses and dragging everything else inside too, since they're probably going to be there for a few days at least. Dawn takes the sleeping bags out of their nylon cases and spreads one out on the mattress that's going to be Wesley's, trying to make it as comfortable as possible. She tries not to watch or listen when Spike and Xander pick him up between them and lower him onto the bed, but luckily Wesley stays unconscious. 

Even though she should totally know better, she can't help but go over and kneel down next to him, watching his pale face. It seems... kind of unbelievable that his glasses are still on but that his arm is gone. She looks down at her own hand, then up at Wesley's face again. He's breathing okay -- kind of fast and shallow, but not in a way that's really scary. 

She has no idea if he's going to live or die. 

Xander is standing on the other side of the mattress, looking down at Wesley too. His shoulders are slumped and his face is creased with strain. 

"Why don't you go see if there's running water in the bathrooms?" Dawn suggests, thinking that if there is, Xander can at least clean some of the blood off his hands and face, and maybe that will make him feel a little bit better. 

"What?" Xander looks up at her, but it's like he has to force himself to drag his gaze away from Wesley. 

"Bathroom?" Dawn says gently. "It's okay. I'll stay right here with him." 

After a few seconds, Xander says, "Yeah, okay. I'll be right back." He turns and starts for the back of the store, and Dawn turns her head and looks at Spike. 

"Could you make sure he's okay?" she asks. 

"You want me to follow him to the loo?" Spike asks, incredulous. "He's been going on his own for twenty years, pet. Don't think he needs me to hold his cock for him." 

Dawn just barely manages not to roll her eyes. "I'd feel better if I knew the bathrooms were safe," she says. "Plus, did you _see_ him? He'll be lucky if he doesn't get lost on the way there." She smiles a little bit at Spike. "Please? For me?" 

That works like she knew it would. Spike sighs and nods. "Right. Be back in a few. And if you need anything, just give a shout -- I'll come running." 

Dawn already knows that. 

He always does. 

* * *

Bathroom's dark -- there's a high window, but they're on the wrong side of the building, plus it's after sunset now anyway. Spike can see just fine without extra light, but he's brought one of the new lanterns with him, and Harris squints as the pale glow fills the room. 

"You all right?" Spike asks. 

Xander's hands are under a trickle of running water coming from the faucet, and Spike can smell the sharp medicinal scent of antibacterial soap, but he doesn't answer. Just keeps washing his hands, scrubbing them like he's trying to get rid of every trace of blood. 

"Lady MacBeth a personal role model?" Spike asks, setting the lantern down on the edge of the nearest sink and leaning against the wall. 

"What?" Xander says, and then, right away, "Shut up. If that's the most helpful thing you have to say..." 

"Asked if you were all right, didn't I?" Spike says, affronted. 

"Probably because Dawn asked you to." Harris sounds like he's more making an attempt at their normal disagreeable interaction than like he really means it. 

"Well yeah." Now that he's admitted it, he and Xander exchange a glance that includes tiny smiles, acknowledgment that they'd both be wrapped around her little finger if she wanted it. 

Xander finishes washing his hands and looks around, finds a paper towel dispenser on the wall. With his back still to Spike, he says, "He's gonna die, isn't he." 

Spike can hear the hopelessness. Recognizes it as the same he was feeling when he and Dawn had turned up on Peter's doorstep, with her blood all dripping down him and the terrible certainty in his heart that she was as good as gone. "No," he says, because no one should have to feel like that. Not anyone halfway decent, at any rate. "We won't let him." 

Harris crumples up the brown paper and lets it drop to the floor before he turns back around. "He saved my life," he says. 

"Yeah." 

"If he dies..." 

"You listening? We won't let him die." Spike looks at Xander fiercely and lies as easily as breathing comes to humans, or to ones that aren't at death's door anyway. "He'll be okay. Lost a lot of blood, but not enough to kill him." 

The look Xander gives him is grateful, and Spike's not sure how he feels about that. 

* * *

Dawn sits next to Wesley and listens to him breathe. He's pale -- okay, actually he's really, really pale -- and there are some tiny little flecks of blood on his face. She's not sure if there was more, before, and Xander cleaned it off, or if somehow this was all that got on him. Which would be pretty weird, considering. 

He probably saved her life, she knows that. If he hadn't been there, with the gun and the distracting, that demon would have come after her instead. She doesn't like the thought that he had to pay a price like this -- his _arm_ \-- for it, but she's not stupid enough not to be thankful. 

Part of her wishes he would wake up, so she could tell him that. Well, maybe not in exactly those words. But the rest of her's glad that he's not awake, because right now he's probably not thinking about it. 

She hears the creak of a door, and footsteps, the low murmur of Spike and Xander's voices as they come back from the bathroom. 

Xander looks better -- he cleaned off most of the blood, and he seems a little bit less tense than he had when he left. He gives Dawn a quick smile before sitting down next to her. "Thanks," he says, and she knows he means for staying with Wesley. 

"It's okay. He didn't, you know, move or anything." It's not like she knows if that's a good sign or a bad sign, actually. 

"You should try to get some sleep," Spike says, looking at Xander, and Dawn feels better that Spike's making an effort to be nice. 

Xander shakes his head. "I don't think I could sleep." 

"You'd be surprised," Spike says mildly, then he looks at Dawn and jerks his head toward the back of the store. He's still holding the lantern he took with him. "You need to use the little girls' room?" 

Oh yeah, the whole tampon thing. "Uh-huh," she says, getting up and then realizing this would be a good time to change clothes and stuff too. "Um, hang on a minute." 

She quickly gets a few things together, and they walk back toward the bathrooms. The store is quiet, obviously, but it feels... different now, too. Quiet in a creepy way, now that stuff's happened here. 

Spike goes into the women's bathroom first, pushing the door open and checking before he lets her go. He follows her inside, too. Dawn is weirded out that she's not _more_ weirded out by that, but it seems normal, after all the time they've been together. Having Wesley and Xander around is good, but she still feels like she needs Spike there with her, like she's safer that way, even though the whole safety thing is something she definitely won't bring up because they always end up arguing about it. 

She pees and changes her tampon -- with the stall door closed, thank you very much, since doing _that_ in front of Spike would just be icky -- kicks her jeans off and into the back corner of the stall, and then comes back out into the main part of the bathroom. 

"Ew," Dawn says, pulling her bloodstained shirt off and stuffing it into the trash barrel. "Too bad they don't have a shower." 

Spike puts the lantern down and pulls her close, kissing her and then trailing his mouth down along the side of her throat, licking her skin, giving her goosebumps. "Could clean you off, love," Spike murmurs, and Dawn shivers. 

"That's..." She was going to say something else, but Spike's hand is on her ass, pulling her in against him, and then his other hand is pulling her bra strap down over her shoulder, and he's licking her collarbone, and she forgets whatever she was going to say and just moans softly. 

She could turn her head and look in the row of mirrors behind the sinks, but she doesn't want to, because she knows the only reflection will be hers. So instead, Dawn shuts her eyes when Spike frees her breast and closes his mouth around it, sucking hard. It makes her knees weak, and she clings to him, biting her lip. 

Spike moves around behind her, pulling off her bra and taking both bare breasts into his hands, kneading them while he kisses her neck. "So proud of you, Bit. Such a strong girl. My girl." 

Dawn can't even protest any of it, because what he's doing feels too good and she wants more. She reaches back and gets her hand in between them so she can kind of awkwardly cup Spike's erection, and he growls and pinches her nipples harder, grinding against her hand. "Spike," she gasps. 

"Mm." He sucks on the side of her neck, and she thinks she's going to have a really nice big hickey there probably, but she doesn't really care. Spike slides his left hand down over her stomach and underneath the elastic of her panties, one fingertip sliding into the curls between her legs. 

"Spike... I can't." Dawn whispers it, even though she knows there's no way Xander can overhear them as long as they're not too loud. "I'm still... you know." 

"I know," Spike says, teasing her nipple with light touches. "Don't care." 

She blushes harder, if that's even possible. "I do. It's gross." 

"No. It's not." His fingers slides down and slicks over her clit, making her whole body twitch and drawing a whimper from her. That reaction seems to decide him, and in moments Spike has her totally naked and pushed up against the bathroom wall, and he's on his knees in front of her, his tongue licking up her thigh. Dawn makes a wordless sound of protest, but Spike just soothes her with his hands on the backs of her thighs. "Shh. Just want to make you feel good." 

And he pushes his tongue in, sliding it wetly over her, and Dawn bites down on her lip and leans her head back, not caring about anything but Spike and the fact that he loves her. He has to, right? To want to do this, and to take care of her the way he does. 

It feels like he licks her for a long time, until she's shaking and whimpering and coming, coming so hard that she knows she'd have fallen down if Spike hadn't been holding her. He gets up, his tongue licking his lips clean, and he looks... kind of happy. And hungry. 

He rubs against her, and Dawn can feel him hard against her thigh even though he's still dressed. "You taste incredible, pet," he murmurs against her throat, his hands braced against the wall to either side of her. "My sweet girl." 

Dawn loves it when he talks like that. She moans softly and puts her arms around him, grabbing onto his ass and pulling him closer, encouraging him to thrust against her. 

"God, I want you," Spike says, still in that low voice. "You make me so hard, love. Never been like this with anyone else." 

She moves her hand around to the front of his jeans and fumbles with the fastenings, wanting to touch him. When his cock pushes into her hand, making her fingers slippery, Dawn shivers. "I could... um..." 

"What, pet? Anything you like. Anything." Spike thrusts his hips forward slowly with a soft groan, and that's what decides her -- Dawn drops down onto her knees on the tile floor and nuzzles hesitantly at his cock with her cheek, feeling how soft the skin is and thinking about what she's heard about sucking guys off, which has mostly been vague and has always actually sounded kind of gross. 

But it doesn't seem that way with Spike, not even when she licks the salty bitter pre-come from the head of his cock, the taste of it bursting over her tongue and making her mouth flood with saliva. He trembles, and Dawn thinks it's because he's trying not to scare her or push her into doing more than she wants to. 

"Yeah, love," Spike whispers, reaching down to caress her hair. 

Dawn licks him again, then takes his cock into her mouth and tries to suck on it, which doesn't work out all that well. She doesn't know what to do with her tongue and teeth -- where the heck are they supposed to go? -- but at least she finally gets those jokes about old women taking out their dentures to do this, because it would be _so_ much easier if she didn't have to worry about nicking him. 

But then Spike stiffens, straightening up, his muscles going all tense, and he growls a little bit, or maybe snarls. Dawn's not sure what the difference is. When she looks up, she realizes that it doesn't matter, because Spike is in vamp face and he's staring at her with a hungry, feral gleam in his eyes. 

She remembers suddenly how long it's been since Spike really fed. 

Oh shit, Dawn thinks. I'm in so much trouble. 

* * *

Spike has known he's been courting disaster since the moment he dropped to his knees and buried his face between Dawn's sweet thighs, drinking her in. Even the small taste was enough to push him to the brink of control, and when she'd shuddered and come, making enticing whimpering noises as she did, he'd lost it. Stopped caring about anything but her body and what he wanted to do to it, which was a hell of a lot more than just fuck it. 

When she gets down and sucks on his cock, that's it. Game face comes on and he growls, and there's just barely enough of himself left to wrench control back from the demon and try to warn her. "Get out of here," he tells her. "Before I... just get out." 

"Spike, I -- " Dawn looks terrified, her eyes wide, and that just makes him want her more. 

"Get _out_ ," Spike roars, slamming his head back into the wall behind him in an attempt to distract himself or, if he's lucky, knock himself senseless. "Just get out of here until I can..." 

Finally, she moves. Scrambles to her feet, but it's too late -- he's lost again, just from the scent of her blood in the air and the rapid stuttering pulse of it just under the thin skin of her throat. Reveling in it, Spike grabs onto her and jerks her toward him, lowering his mouth to the sweet juncture of neck and shoulder as Dawn shrieks at the top of her lungs, struggling in his arms. 

Makes it all the better when he bites through and begins to feed. 

She moans in pain, and that makes it better too. Then, to his surprise, she stops fighting. He can feel her breath hitch, then she says, "It's okay, Spike. I -- I want you to." And in the moment Spike relaxes, lets down his guard and sinks his fangs a fraction of an inch deeper, his entire body singing as the blood rushes through him, Dawn lifts her knee and slams him in the balls with astonishing force. 

Releasing her is something he can't help but do, his body curling up, trying to protect itself. He's only dimly aware of Dawn scrabbling away from him -- only dimly grateful, the rest is hidden beneath the hunger -- as he waits the needed few seconds for the agony to subside. She won't be able to get far, after all. He's so much faster. 

Then the bathroom door bangs open, and Harris is standing there, his face glowing in the pale light from the lantern that's still on the side of the sink. "What the fuck is going on?" he asks, just as Dawn runs over to him, struggling to pull a little t-shirt on over her head to hide herself. 

"He was... we were, and then..." She can't form a sentence. Xander takes another step into the room, holding the door open with his arm high so that Dawn can duck under it and behind him. 

"I told you you couldn't trust him," Harris says. He's acting calm, but Spike can hear the fine quiver in his voice that gives him away. 

That's when Spike sees that Harris' got a stake in his other hand. "Gonna dust me?" he asks, forcing himself upright despite the deep ache in his groin, tucking his cock back into his jeans as casually as he can, trying not to wince. 

"If I have to," Xander says. He doesn't turn his head to look at Dawn. "Are you okay?" 

"I think so." Dawn's voice is small, and a twinge of something in Spike's gut makes him wince. "It's not his fault," she says. 

Spike snorts, trying to maintain some sort of distance from the whole situation. "Don't fool yourself, Bit. Who else's would it be? This is what I am. Told you so plenty of times, haven't I?" He doesn't want to hurt her \-- that's the truth. Control just got away from him for a minute there. He's been running too close to the edge for too long. 

"It was an accident," Dawn insists. "He tried to warn me." 

"Not quick enough though, was I." Spike leans back against the wall, physiological reaction to the hunger making him tremble. "Just get her out of here for a while, Harris. Give me a few minutes alone." 

"So you can do what? Come back out and decide which one of us looks like the easiest meal? No, thanks." Xander shakes his head, and Spike thinks they both know who the easiest target would be if that were the case. "No. We have to figure out the right way to handle this." 

Surprised, Spike says, "Get the hell away from me, that's how." 

"No," Dawn says. He can hear the gratitude in her voice. "We're a team, right?" 

Spike wants to say yes, but he's shaking with the effort of holding back as it is. "Not if it means you being in danger," he says stubbornly. 

"Then we don't let her be," Harris says, still doing a good job of acting calm. 

"What's your solution, then?" Spike asks, his teeth itching with the need for blood. "Gonna feed me yourself?" He knows that'll never happen. 

"If I have to." Xander says. 

The trembling has spread to Spike's hands like a palsy, and he has to clench them into fists to make it stop. "Harris," he says slowly. "We're not friends. You don't want to do this. Just get her out of here and give me some time. I'll... I can control this." 

"He can't," Dawn says stubbornly. "If he could, he wouldn't have -- " 

"Get her _out_ ," Spike says, full of rage that they're ignoring him, and slams his head back into the wall again. This time he breaks something \-- the wall, not his head -- and a small shower of plaster chips falls down into his hair and over his shoulders. 

Xander says, "No." He steps sideways into the room, leaving Dawn to hold the door open on her own, and gives her the stake. "Here. Take this too." He reaches inside his shirt and pulls out a chunky gold cross on a long chain, long enough to take off over his head without unfastening it, which is what he does, only half-turning away from Spike as he puts the necklace on Dawn. Then, cautiously, he moves toward Spike. 

"You don't know what you're getting yourself into," Spike tells him, staying where he is only through supreme effort. 

"Yeah, I do." Harris holds his hands out to the side a bit, which just proves to Spike that he really _doesn't_ know what he's doing. A gesture of surrender isn't the way to deal with this. "Dawn has a stake and my cross. If you fuck up, she'll stop you. Right, Dawn?" 

Spike can hear her swallow from across the room. "R-right." Then, more strongly, "Right. Isn't there some kind of police saying like this? Um, 'take it nice and slow and no one gets hurt?' Oh. No, I think that's a bank robber thing." Her voice rises, high and quavery, and in that moment any chance Spike thought there was of this not ending badly is shattered. 

Unfortunately, so's his resolve. 

"All right," Spike says. 

Harris starts to take off his shirt, and as his thin but muscular torso comes into view, Spike thinks that he should tell him to keep his shirt on, that it'd be safer to do this from his wrist. But he doesn't. Just waits for Xander to come closer, eyeing the juncture of throat and shoulder with hunger, reaching a hand out for Harris' waist as he gets within touching distance. 

"Oh, no," Xander says, stopping despite Spike's growl of frustration. "We have to do this the right way. Turn around like this." He indicates that Spike should stand sideways rather than facing him, then moves around so that his back is to Spike, both of them facing the mirrors. 

Good boy, Spike thinks. Submit. 

"This way Dawn can stop you if she has to," Harris says. "And she can see my face, so she'll know. Okay?" 

Spike hears Dawn say, "Okay," but he can't wait a second more, he's already wrapping an arm around Harris' waist from behind and sinking his fangs through the salty flesh at the nape of Xander's neck, sweet hot blood bursting into his mouth. 

Xander chokes back a pained sound, then says, "It's okay. It's okay." Spike's not sure if he's saying it to Dawn or himself, but either way, his girl's smart -- she moves further into the room, the stake clenched in one hand and the cross in the other. 

Spike feeds. 

It's so good -- better, somehow, for knowing Harris instead of him being a complete stranger. Xander's stomach muscles flutter underneath the sensitive skin of Spike's inner elbow and forearm, his hitched breathing like music to Spike's ears as he swallows mouthful after mouthful. He can smell Harris' arousal as his own cock hardens, and can't -- doesn't want to -- stop himself from thrusting forward, rubbing himself against that warm human ass. He drinks slowly, knowing that sooner or later it's got to stop, and he wants it for as long as possible. 

"Spike..." Xander says, then, "Dawn?" 

She steps closer, and immediately Spike forces himself to let go of Xander and back up. It's harder than he'd thought it would be, stopping, but he's in control again. "Yeah. Okay." 

Harris claps a hand over the wound on his throat, the smell of the blood still thick in the air, and turns around to look at Spike. "You okay?" he asks cautiously. 

"Yeah," Spike says, looking at the floor because it's easier to keep hold of himself that way. He swallows. "Better." 

"We can't let this happen again," Dawn says, as Harris pulls his shirt back on. 

"It won't," Spike says shortly, wondering what changed since the time she tried to offer to let him feed from her. Learned she can't trust him, he guesses. He adds a lie. "None of you are food. Don't want you to be." 

"No, I meant you getting this hungry," Dawn says. He looks up into her eyes, which are far more understanding than he probably deserves. "There's got to be somewhere else we can find blood. Can we go somewhere there are a lot of cows or something?" 

"That's not a bad idea." Harris takes the stake back from her, but doesn't say anything about the necklace. Seems just as happy not to talk about what just happened, which is just fine with Spike. "Look, I'm gonna go check on Wesley. Dawn... you want to come?" 

Spike gets that Harris is trying to give him some time alone, which he probably needs, and he's more grateful for that than he is for the blood. "Yeah, you go on, Bit. I'll be along in a minute." 

Dawn looks at him, big eyed, a small stain of blood seeping into the collar of her t-shirt, and Spike wants her so much in that moment that he knows she'd be better  
off without him. "Okay. We'll be right out there." 

They both leave, neither of them taking the lantern with them even though Spike doesn't need it and they must know that, and that's when he leans against the wall and slides down along it to sit on the floor. Spike stares at his hands dangling between his thighs and wonders what the bloody hell he's going to do now. 

* * *

Dawn doesn't know when it happened, but she's holding Xander's hand as they go back to where Wesley is still sleeping, or lying unconscious. Xander crouches down next to the pile of first aid stuff and rummages through it, and she crouches with him, discovering that she doesn't want to let go of him. 

"It's okay," Xander says, finding a box of really big bandaids and gently prying his hand away from hers. "Here, pull your collar back." 

She does, baring the spot where Spike bit her, realizing then that she's shaking. "It wasn't his fault," she repeats, as Xander wipes the blood away and sticks on a bandaid. 

"No, I think it was probably the chip's fault," Xander says, sitting back on his heels and looking at her. "Were you planning on telling us that it had stopped working, I don't know, _ever_?" But he doesn't sound as mad as she'd thought he would. 

Dawn looks down at her hands, then moves and picks up a bandaid, starting to unwrap it. Her eyes keep darting over to Wesley, and she can't help but see how _wrong_ he looks with his arm just... not there. "It's not like I didn't know you'd find out sooner or later," she says, gesturing at Xander to pull his shirt out of the way. She wipes off the little bit of blood that's kind of oozed out with a piece of gauze, then puts the bandaid on carefully. "Anyway... I trust him." 

"Yeah, well, that'd be more convincing if he hadn't just tried to eat you," Xander points out. 

"He couldn't help it," Dawn says miserably. "He's, like, starving." That thought makes her more upset and sad than the fact that he lost control for that one instant. She knows it was a mistake. 

She doesn't want to think about it being a mistake that could happen again. 

"Then we need to find him more blood," Xander says. "Because I don't know about you, but I'm not willing to become a walking, talking human blood bank for a vampire." 

"I wouldn't mind," Dawn says very quietly, twisting the bandaid wrapper into a little toothpick shape. 

Xander pauses, then says, "What?" 

"I told him before," Dawn says. She raises her eyes to meet Xander's. "That if he needed to, you know, drink some of my blood sometimes, it was okay with me." She knows they've had basically this same conversation before. "But he said no." 

"Well I'm glad _one_ of you has some sense," Xander says. He rubs his forehead. "Wait. I just admitted that Spike has sense, didn't I." 

Dawn smiles a little bit. "Maybe." 

"That's not what I meant. I just meant..." Xander sighs. 

Beside them, Wesley stirs and makes a small sound of pain, and Xander's attention is instantly diverted. He moves closer, reaching out to touch Wesley's hair gently without touching the mattress at all, like he doesn't want to jar him. "Wes? Wesley?" 

Under his touch, Wesley seems to settle again, the lines on his face smoothing out. 

"It's okay," Xander soothes. "I'm here." 

It hurts Dawn's heart to watch. "I'm in love with him," she says, while Xander's still focused on Wesley. "I can't help it. I just am." 

And Xander turns to look at her with his one eye, his hand still hovering over Wesley's hair. "Yeah. I know." 

* * *

Spike sits there on the floor of the bathroom for a long time before he finally comes out, bringing the lantern with him. Dawn and Xander are sitting next to each other on the floor near Wesley, not talking. 

"Gonna go smoke," he says. He doesn't want to do it without Dawn at least knowing where he is, and, to be fair, he wants to see what she'll say. If she'll offer to come with him. Not that he knows if he'd agree to it or not. 

But Dawn just says, "Okay," and lets him go. 

Spike's not sure how he feels about that. 

He goes out and smokes, listening hard for any sounds that might be suspicious, but hearing nothing but the soft murmurs of Xander and Dawn talking inside. Spends a long time out there, and by the time he comes back in, Xander's asleep on a mattress next to Wesley's and Dawn is curled up on one of the other two. Her eyes follow him as he kicks off his boots and crouches down. "You okay?" he asks quietly. 

Dawn props her head up on her hand. "Yeah. I'm okay. Are you?" 

"Better," Spike says. He'd said it before. Seemed to work then. 

He starts to lower himself onto the free mattress, but Dawn frowns. "What, do I suddenly have cooties or something?" 

"Thought maybe you might like some space," Spike mutters, keeping his eyes down. 

"No, I want to sleep with you," Dawn says. "I always sleep with you." As if it's that simple, as if this is the only life she's ever known, which is both untrue and fucking depressing as far as Spike's concerned. 

Still, not like he wants to argue with her, and now that he's fed, he's feeling in control again, so he's not worried about being a danger to her. For now. He lies down next to her, the feel of the air mattress odd underneath him, and puts his arm around her automatically, not even thinking about it. 

Like it's the only life he's ever known, too, and at least that's a little less depressing. 

"There's stuff I need to do in the morning," Dawn says, stifling a yawn behind her hand. "There's a ton of medicine back there -- pills, mostly. And I figure there must be books too, some way to find out which ones are for what." She lowers her voice even though the other two are asleep. "Antibiotics. You know, so Wesley doesn't get an infection." 

Girl's too smart for her own good, which just might be enough to get the rest of them through this. "Yeah. He's not gonna be up to traveling for days, probably. Unless there's no other choice. Plenty of time to sort through it all." 

"Well, I want to do it sooner and not later," Dawn says. Her voice is warm against Spike's neck. 

"Whatever you want," Spike tells her. 

She squirms a bit, trying to get comfortable. "What are we going to do about the blood thing? If we're here for days, I mean?" 

"Don't worry yourself about that. I'll think of something." He'll have to go out hunting, is what. Won't be the first time or the last, and at least Dawn won't be alone. 

"I could still -- " Dawn starts hesitantly, and Spike shakes his head, cutting her off before she can finish. 

"No," he says. "You saw what happens." 

"But that was because you waited so long," Dawn says, continuing stubbornly even though her voice is still low. "If you didn't..." 

Spike shakes his head again. "No," he repeats. "It's not up for discussion. I'm serious." 

"Yeah, well, so am I." Dawn sighs, seeming to give up for the moment, at least. 

"Been a long day," Spike says. "You should try to get some sleep." 

She nods against his chest, snuggling in closer, and it's not long after that he realizes she's fallen asleep in his arms. 

* * *

Dawn wakes up to a sound that's wrong on such a deep level that for several very long moments she has no idea where she is or what's happened, just that her stomach is clenched into knots. 

Then she realizes what the sound is, and that doesn't help her feel better, because it's Wesley, and he's... crying. 

Well, except not, because he's not letting himself. But it's such a close thing that he might as well be, rough low sounds of pain on every exhale and shaky indrawn breaths like Dawn gets after she's cried for a long time, when her chest aches and her face is wet with tears. 

She's alone in the bed, and when she opens her eyes, she sees Spike crouching next to the mattress Wesley is on, and Xander's there too. Xander glances in her direction and Dawn quickly shuts her eyes. She's not sure why -- it just... well, it feels like this isn't something she's supposed to see or know about. Probably Wesley would be all embarrassed if he knew she'd seen him like this, and maybe Xander's embarrassed for him. 

"...kinds of stuff back there," Xander is saying in a low voice. "But I don't know what any of it is." 

"Last thing we want's to overdose him," Spike says, agreeing with Xander. It's kind of weird to hear them talking like that, like they're working together, even though it's happened a few times before. "Hang on." 

Then Spike's voice again, coaxing. 

"Wesley? You hear me?" 

Wesley gasps and shudders -- Dawn might not be looking at him, but she knows it anyway. "Yes," he says. 

"All kind of drugs back there -- stuff we can give you to dull the pain. But we need to know which ones and how much." 

It's really quiet for a long time except for the labored sound of Wesley's breathing. Then he says, "Percocet. Vicodin. Demerol." Another shuddering breath. "Morphine, but... probably intravenous." 

"Will you know how much is safe?" Spike asks. 

Wesley coughs, and the sound tapers off into a whimper that hangs around for the next couple of breaths. "Don't worry," he says finally. "I won't... let you kill me." 

"I'll go," Spike says. "You stay here with him." 

Xander doesn't argue, and Dawn listens as Spike goes off to the back of the store, keeping her eyes closed because that seems to make more sense than getting up and following him, even thought that's what she really wants to do. 

About a minute later, it's what she really _wishes_ she'd done, because Wesley's pained breathing turns into what sounds more like actual crying, just little tiny sounds like he's trying to hold them back, but can't. 

She takes a chance and opens her eyes just the tiniest bit. Wesley's hand -- his only hand, and god, how weird and awful is that -- is over his face, and his shoulders are shaking, and those little noises keep escaping him. Xander's petting Wesley's hair, and the look on his face is so sad that Dawn closes her eyes again quickly, determined to keep them closed this time no matter what. 

"It's okay," Xander says, his voice breaking. "Hang on, Wesley. It's gonna be okay." 

Wesley doesn't say anything -- he just keeps crying, the sound of it making Dawn want to cry too. Guys -- men -- aren't supposed to cry like that. _No one's_ supposed to cry like that. 

Xander's still talking. "Shh. Wes... don't. It'll just hurt more -- trust me, I know. Shhh. It's okay. I'm right here, okay? Shh." 

"Xander..." It's like that's all Wesley can say, even if it's barely a whisper between gasps for air. 

"Yeah, I'm right here." Xander sounds so upset. "It's okay, Wes. I love you. You know that, right?" 

Wesley doesn't answer. 

It feels like a really long time goes by, while Wesley sobs those quiet little sobs and Xander talks through what sounds like tears of his own, even though his sound different -- frustration and helplessness instead of pain. Dawn wishes she'd just gotten up and followed Spike, because she shouldn't be hearing this. This is private \-- Wesley's pain and the things Xander says to him are things she shouldn't know about, not when they don't know that she's basically spying on them. 

She's hugely relieved when Spike comes back, even if it doesn't seem like Wesley can stop the noises he's making. Like once he started, he can't stop. 

"Got Vicodin and Percocet," Spike says, probably to Xander. Dawn knows him well enough to be able to tell just from his voice that he's worried about Wesley too. 

"Is there any way to tell which one's better?" Xander asks. "Or how much you're supposed to take?" 

"Don't know enough about it," Spike says. More gently, "Wes? We need your help here, mate. Vicodin or Percocet?" 

Quiet while Wesley thinks. "Percocet," he says. "...dosage?" 

Another pause, then Spike saying, irritatedly, "Give me that. Here. Says five, three hundred twenty five, whatever the hell that means." 

There's the squeak of an air mattress, and Wesley makes a worse sound, a scary sound. But it fades quickly back into the sounds he'd been making before. Dawn can feel tears at the corners of her eyes. "Two now," Wesley says finally. "Then one... six hours." 

"That gonna be enough?" Spike asks, concerned. 

Wesley makes another sound, and it takes a minute for Dawn to realize he's laughing. "No," he says. 

Dawn tries not to listen while they find water and manage to get the pill down Wesley's throat. She doesn't want to hear it -- her stomach is all tied up in knots. But after a while, Wesley stops making any sound at all except for slow breathing, and she relaxes too. 

"Thanks," Xander murmurs to Spike, his voice soft. "Why don't you try to get some sleep? I'm good." 

"No. I'll stay." 

Opening her eyes again, Dawn sees the two of them sitting next to each other, thighs touching. She's glad Xander's not alone -- glad none of them are. 

Later, Xander falls asleep, and Dawn must doze off too, because she's surprised awake when Spike lies down next to her again, pulling her close. 

"You all right, love?" he asks. "Knew you were awake." 

"You did?" Dawn whispers, surprised. 

"Yeah." Spike's hand cradles the back of her head tenderly. He smells like cigarette smoke and leather, and Dawn squirms to get closer, wanting as much of their bodies to be touching as possible. "You all right?" he asks again. 

She nods against his chest. Then, after a minute, shakes her head. 

"No? What can I do?" Spike sounds so sweet and caring that Dawn starts to cry softly with her face pressed against his t-shirt. "Bit. Dawn. It's all right, love. It'll be fine." 

It's not that she thinks it won't be -- she hasn't give up hope or anything. It's just that listening to Wesley in pain like that was so _hard_ , and she knows that it happened to him because he'd been protecting her, and... she doesn't want to think. She just cries, very quietly, with Spike holding her and rubbing her back and saying soothing things, just like Xander did for Wesley. 

And that's when she knows, really knows, that it's not any different. It's just love -- just like her mom and dad when she was little, and they're dead now. Just like Buffy and Angel, and Willow and Tara, and her and Spike. And Wesley and Xander. 

It's all love, and Dawn is filled this amazing sense of wonder as she cries, thinking that it's not possible for her to love Spike any more than she already does. He's everything. 

Whatever it takes to keep her safe, he'll do. 

And she'll do whatever it takes to keep him safe, too. Even if he thinks she doesn't know what that is. 

* * *

They keep Wesley well drugged up for the next couple of days -- Dawn finds a book in the back that gives them some idea of what to expect from the drugs, and lets them know how to tell if they're overdoing it. As much worry over the lesser painkiller as the heavy-duty one -- figures, that -- but they're careful. Keep a close eye on him, making sure he looks all right. 

Spike can see he's losing weight -- they can barely keep him hydrated, let alone get him to eat anything -- and he and Dawn make another uneventful trip to the department store looking for bottled water. They come back with only two containers, but since they also come back with all their body parts, Spike counts it a success. 

Trying to change Wesley's bandage, some time around day four or five, is something that results in Harris being noisily sick in the next aisle of the store while Spike has to finish the job. When it's done, Wesley's pale and covered with a thin sheen of sweat, and Dawn looks like she might follow Xander any minute. Keeps herself together, though. Spike's not sure he even has the words for how proud he is of her. 

The next day, Wesley's better. Sits, half propped up, and eats something. Talks a bit. He's exhausted in less than an hour, but it's progress, and the first time that Spike actually believes what he'd told both Dawn and Xander \-- he thinks maybe Wesley's gonna live. 

And, he's surprised to note, he's glad about it. 

The day after that, he waits until there's a lull in the conversation, then says, "Ought to think about moving on." 

The look Dawn gives him is startled. "Already? But we haven't even been here that long." 

It's telling that she wants to stay in one place, even one as dull as this one. Spike files that away. "Front door's kicked in," he points out, not for the first time. "If we want to settle somewhere, there's better places than this." 

"You don't think it's too soon to move him?" Xander asks, glancing over at Wesley like he's done a hundred times in the half hour since the bloke's been asleep. 

"Can ask him when he wakes up, can't we." But even Spike knows that any answer Wesley gives is gonna be what he thinks is best for everyone and not necessarily the truth. He sighs. "He'll be fine. Not like he's got to do anything but lie around and recover, right?" 

"We could take the back seat out," Dawn offers. "If we put one of the mattresses back there, he'd be pretty comfortable." 

Spike resists pointing out that this means he'll have to sit on the floor, which sure as hell isn't his first choice. Not like he hasn't had worse. 

"And we'll have to take a lot of the medicine with us," Dawn continues. Now that she's on a roll, she seems more excited about the idea of getting on the road again. "I mean, it might come in handy later, too." 

"I think some of that stuff expires," Xander says. 

"Yeah, but what would you rather take? Expired cough syrup that only kind of works, or no cough syrup?" Dawn asks. 

"Point taken." Xander glances over at Wesley again, then back at Spike. "Yeah, okay. Not like this place is full of good memories." 

That night, Spike goes out again. Two nights before he'd found a nest of two vamps and drained both of them, and tonight he knows he needs to find something better. He doesn't like leaving Dawn -- well, any of them, really, but her in particular -- but it's not like he's got much choice in the matter. 

He walks two hours before he finds what he's looking for \-- small group of humans holed up in a house. Four or five of them, he thinks, listening at the outside wall to their voices, soft, muted. He goes all round the house, checking windows and doors silently, trying to find a way in even though he knows the chances that he'll be able to get in even so are slim to none. But everything's locked up tight anyway. 

Spike considers his options. He's hungry enough that, in the end, he decides to chance losing some of them rather than all of them. Doesn't burn the house to smoke them out. Instead, he bloodies his own face and forces himself to breathe heavily like he's a human that's been running hard, then slams his body against the door, knocking frantically. 

"Help!" he calls. "Please, you've got to help me!" 

He gives deliberate gasps as someone on the other side of the door looks out through the peephole, doing his best to look scared. A terse discussion, then the door is opened. "What is it?" the man on the other side of a barrier he might not even know's there asks. 

"Monsters," Spike gasps, reaching up a trembling hand to smear the blood across a cut that's already healing. "Attacked me and my girl. You've got to help -- " 

The man reaches out -- maybe to pat Spike's shoulder. Hard to tell, and not like it matters. Spike grabs his wrist as soon as it's across the threshold and yanks, jerking him outside and morphing into game face, sinking fangs into a warm living body that struggles and stinks of fear as the screams and cries of the other people in the house fill his ears in a gorgeous cacophony. 

Spike feeds, and just as the struggles of the man in his arms start to die down, he learns something. 

Shouldn't have taken his eyes off the doorway. 

A stake slams into him from the side, probably aiming for his heart but going into the muscle of his shoulder instead, and he shouts and drops the man in his arms \-- falls like a stone, he does -- and whirls to slam his fist into face of the shaking, terrified younger man who's backing away from him. This bloke goes down too, hard, and two more stupid humans come out of the house to help him. 

Spike reaches behind and wrenches the stake from his shoulder, snarling at the hot rush of pain. He tosses it to the ground and turns back to the people, grabbing the closest one that's trying to help the young bloke and spinning her so her back's to his chest -- he can keep an eye on the rest of them that way. He holds the woman still with one hand on her arm and the other cupping a full breast and bites into her throat, not letting the explosion of blood over his tongue distract him. 

Face-bashed-in bloke's near senseless on the ground, and the first man's so close to drained that he's almost dead where he lies. Another man's trying to drag the hurt one toward the house. Last thing Spike wants is to lose a potential meal -- he sucks the woman in his arms dry and tosses her aside, snagging the shirt front of the would-be rescuer and sinking teeth into him too. He moans, and Spike can feel the vibration against his teeth. His whole body's humming with the thrill of the hunt -- fresh blood filling him up. 

Drains that one and lets him fall too, then turns to pick up the man with the bloodied face, dropping to his knees next to him rather than bothering to haul the bloke to his feet -- far as he Spike can tell, there's only one more human in the house. 

He licks some blood off the man's face, grinning at the way the bloke's eyes roll and widen, pain and terror so sharp that he can almost taste it. 

Then Spike hears a whimper from the doorway and glances over. 

There's a girl kneeling on the stoop, one hand clutching the wooden door frame. She's 17, maybe -- long, straight hair. Wide green eyes spilling tears all down her cheeks as she sobs with her other hand balled into a fist and shoved against her mouth to stifle the sound. Her eyes dart from Spike to the face of the young man he's holding, and something in her gaze tells him more than he wants to know. 

Heart gets him in trouble time and again, doesn't it. Shouldn't surprise him anymore. 

With a sigh, Spike bites into the bloke's throat, but he doesn't take more than what he took from Harris the other night -- not nearly enough to kill the man. Then he gets to his feet, dragging the reeling, stinking excuse for humanity over to the house. "Pissed himself," he tells the girl, as he shoves the young man through the doorway into the house, where he hits the floor without even trying to break his fall. "Hope he's worth something to you, then." 

Still, Spike's not a total git. He finishes draining the first man before he heads back to Dawn and the other two. 

* * *

Dawn is relieved when she hears the familiar sound of Spike's boots on the tile floor. The way he walks is different from anyone else. 

At first she's just glad he's back, but when he walks down the aisle where Xander and Wesley are both asleep and she's been trying to, and she looks up, she can see something in his eyes that makes her nipples tighten and the rest of her feel hot and flushed. He crouches down and looks at her, then reaches out a hand and touches her face. "Come on," he says softly, tilting his head to the side. 

She doesn't think of refusing -- she just gets up, lets him take her hand and lead her to the front of the store, through the broken doorway. He turns her around, pushing her gently up against the wall of the building like he's protecting her, and kisses her. 

It's a long kiss, and she's grateful for the wall at her back because it makes her knees feel like maybe they aren't going to hold her up very well. Her hands are gripping onto Spike's t-shirt, hard, pulling him close, and he feels so good against her that she can't help it \-- little sounds keep escaping her. 

Spike's hand is on her breast, kneading gently, his thumb rubbing back and forth across her nipple -- she's not wearing a bra, she takes it off to go to bed, mostly \-- and she can feel his erection against her hip. Spike's mouth tastes a little bit like blood, but it's not gross or anything. She's just so glad to be with him, and to know that he wants her. 

"That's my girl," he says, rubbing against her. "God, I want you." 

She moans her agreement into his mouth, and the kissing is harder now, more desperate. She feels it just as much as he does -- that want, to be closer, to feel his skin on hers, for him to be inside her, as close as he can get... 

It doesn't take long for Spike to get her pants off her and to open the front of his own enough so that he can push inside her. He's not gentle, but that's okay, and the wall is smooth enough that it's not uncomfortable. And anyway, Spike's supporting most of her weight, his hands on her naked behind as he thrusts roughly into her, saying all kind of good things like, "God yeah, love, you feel so good." 

Dawn kisses him and squeaks when he shoves into her again, the scrape of his shaft against her clit making her crazy. She wants Spike to do this forever, only she can tell that she's going to come soon and then she knows she won't really want him to do it anymore. He pushes her shirt up and leans in to lick her nipples, and she whimpers, squirming, feeling how his cock stretches her open. 

"Good girl," Spike growls against her breast, fucking her harder. "That's my girl. Fuck, Bit. _Dawn_. I'm mad for you." 

She keeps quiet -- well, except for the little sounds that she can't keep back every time he thrusts into her \-- because she can't help but hope he might keep talking, saying stuff like that. Stuff that she wants to hear. Needs to hear, maybe. 

He sucks on her nipple, hard, and she whimpers again, arching her body, desperate for more. "So bloody gorgeous," Spike mutters. "And you've got no idea, have you? No idea how much I love you." 

Dawn gasps and starts to cry, and Spike stops thrusting into her, raising his head and looking at her, worried. 

"Dawn? Pet? Did I hurt you?" 

She sniffles and shakes her head back and forth, squeezing her thighs around him without even thinking about because she really doesn't want him to stop. "You... you said it." 

Spike frowns, confused. "Said what?" 

Dawn blinks away tears, not like that does any good because there are more waiting. "That you... that you love me." 

His eyes clear, and he leans in and kisses her softly, gentle now. "Of course I love you. More than I could say." He pulls back and pushes into her again, slow, making her moan. "You want me to say it again?" 

She nods mutely, but she can't help kissing him again, even though that makes it harder for him to talk. 

"I love you," Spike says. Dawn's crying, still quietly, but she doesn't know how to stop. "Dawn. Love you. My incredible girl, so brave and strong. Love you, pet." 

He's moving steadily again, sliding into her, and her insides feel all warm and melty even though her face is wet with tears. "Spike. I love you, too. I -- " She whimpers, and when his lips close around her nipple again she comes and comes, like it's going to go on forever. She feels it when Spike comes, too, deep in her, groaning and pushing into her with quick little jerks. 

"Shh, love," he says when it's over, wiping away her tears with gentle fingertips. "You sure you're not hurt?" 

Dawn shakes her head again. "I'm okay," she says, looking into his eyes. He tilts his head to the side with a little encouraging smile. "I didn't really know. If you did, I mean." 

"Love you?" Spike asks. 

She nods. 

"Of course I bloody well love you," Spike tells her, setting her back on the ground, both his hands on her naked butt. "Do anything for you." 

Dawn smiles and sniffles, thinking that it's totally stupid to cry about something good. Why do people do that, anyway? She looks at Spike -- _he loves me_ \-- and then around on the ground. "Where are my pants?" _He loves me_. 

Spike tucks himself away and fastens the front of his jeans, stepping back and helping her find her clothes. He helps her put them back on, too. "You should get some sleep, love," he says, brushing her hair back out of her eyes. 

"Okay. But you're coming too?" 

He smiles at her. "Yeah. Come on -- let's be quiet so we don't wake the other two, right?" 

They creep back in and get into bed, with Dawn cuddled in Spike's arms. 

"You don't seriously think I didn't hear that, do you?" Xander's voice asks quietly from a few feet away. 

Dawn blushes and burrows her face into the pillow to muffle her groan of embarrassment, and Xander laughs, still softly. At least Wesley's sleeping. 

"At least we tried to be quiet," Spike says. 

"Hey, whatever. I'm just grateful you didn't do it right here." There's humor in Xander's voice, for the first time in days, Dawn thinks. That might be worth the embarrassment. 

"Please.You'd have loved it if we had," Spike tells him, kind of warm and rough. Like he likes Xander. 

Dawn closes her eyes and lets the rest of their words wash over her, soothing her to sleep. 

* * *

They're only on the road two days before Spike manages to convince them to do some of their traveling at night. What with Wesley out of the driving pool and Dawn's tendency to get tense and strung out like a junkie waiting for her next fix after an hour behind the wheel, Xander's the only one left to drive during the day, and he can only handle so much. 

The second day, after four hours without a break, Spike glances up in time to see Xander's head loll on his neck. "Xander!" he says sharply, and Xander snaps back to attention, correcting the gentle arch the car's been making. Dawn, in the front seat next to Xander, looks startled and worried, and Spike reaches back a hand to steady Wesley as the turning radius changes a bit more sharply than they're used to. 

"Pull the car over," Spike says. 

"I'm -- " 

"Pull the _bloody_ car over," Spike says, not giving Xander time to say something stupid like he's fine. He pats Wesley's chest to reassure him, even though he doesn't think the man's even roused from his drugged slumber. 

Xander does. "Sorry." 

They hadn't slept enough the night before, none of them. Holed up in a place with far less security than any of them would have liked. "Don't want you to be sorry," Spike says, irritated. "Want you to be _awake_ behind the wheel. There's no shame in needing to get some sleep \-- just do it when you're not driving." He sighs. 

At least Xander has the sense not to apologize again. He just looks over at Dawn. "You want a turn?" 

She nods doubtfully. "Okay." 

They switch places without getting out of the car, Dawn giggling when Xander smacks his knee on the gear shift and curses under his breath. Nice to hear her happy. Actually, come to think of it, she's seemed more carefree the past few days. Spike would like to think it's because she _is_ happy -- she says she is, at any rate -- but things are never that easy, are they? 

But they only make it another hour before her hands are clenched on the wheel. It's too much to expect of her \-- for whatever reason, the girl that can cauterize a man's bleeding stump just can't handle driving for more than short distances. 

So Xander takes another turn, and in the end they stop early, which works in their favor because they're able to find a place that's better than the one the night before, a small house without very many windows. Some of them are already boarded up, and the ones that aren't open into rooms that are easy to close off. The four of them bunk in the same room like they've been doing -- more secure that way -- even though Spike can tell that's going to get old real fast. 

There are mattresses in the house, so no need for the bloody air mattresses for once -- one of them's sprung a leak and been tossed already, and Spike thinks another's got a slower leak, but he hasn't been able to figure out where. Along the seam, maybe. He and Harris wrestle three mattresses into the room they're going to sleep in -- two singles and a double. They put the singles side by side \-- that way Xander and Wesley can sleep next to each other without Wesley being jostled. 

Wesley's sitting propped up on one of them as Spike and Xander get the double kicked into the other corner of the room. Dawn's moved a little table over next to Wesley and spread out what they need to change his bandages again. 

"Do you want another pill first?" she asks. 

"No," Wesley says. "I'll be fine." 

"Are you sure? Because I could -- " 

" _No_ ," Wesley says, sharper, and Dawn ducks her head, her long hair falling forward to cover her face. It reminds Spike of Tara, of how the mildest rebuke could make her blush and stammer like she'd killed the Queen. 

Dawn lifts her head again, though, and her chin's set stubbornly. "Fine. You don't have to be a jerk about it." 

Xander straightens up. Spike can hear him open his mouth to say something, but apparently Wesley does too, because he looks over at Xander and shakes his head, then says to Dawn. "No, you're right." 

It's not a proper apology like Spike would have wanted for her, but Dawn seems satisfied. "It's okay," she says, going back to the basket of supplies and setting out some more gauze rolls. "Anyway, you can always change your mind." 

Spike's not looking forward to this job, not after last time, but he does it himself rather than risk either of the other two being sick. They're eating well enough now, but neither of them can afford to lose a meal because of a weak moment. Turns out to be a lot easier than the previous round, though -- there's been a lot less bleeding, so taking off the old gauze isn't as painful a job, and Wesley makes it through without too much trouble. He's still got that white look around the lips, the one that tells Spike that his blood volume's low, but he's better. Brighter. 

Still goes to sleep a good couple of hours before the rest of them though, which means Spike and Dawn get to entertain Xander. It's annoying, sometimes, but worth it -- better than leaving Harris to fret, although he seems to be doing less of that as Wesley heals. 

"Hamburgers," Dawn says wistfully. She's lying with her head on Spike's arm, her hair tickling his nose. "With cheese." 

"Real french fries." Xander's on the mattress closest to theirs, lying on his back and looking at the ceiling. Good thing Wesley can sleep through just about anything on the drugs he's taking, even though they keep their voices quiet. 

"Ice cream," Dawn says. 

This is the first time they've played this particular game, and Spike's not sure it's a good idea, but he doesn't say anything. They seem to be enjoying it -- for now, at least. He just hopes it won't make it harder on them in the morning, when they're back to canned food and the last of the packaged stuff that hasn't gone off. 

"Toast," Xander says. "From fresh bread, with lots of butter." 

Dawn moans softly at the thought. "Scrambled eggs and toast. With fresh-squeezed orange juice." 

"Cake. Chocolate cake with those little sugar flowers on top." Xander sighs. 

"We could probably make cake," Dawn says. 

"We'd need eggs." Xander rolls onto his side so he's facing them. "And milk, right? Is there milk in cake?" 

"I don't know." Dawn slides her hand down and laces her fingers with Spike's where his hand's resting on her stomach. "But there's canned milk. And what about that powdered stuff? I mean, you wouldn't want to _drink_ it, but it would work for baking. I think." 

Spike leans forward and kisses her hair, and she turns her head to look at him, smiling. He loves looking into her eyes -- hazel-green, with little flecks of brown. He wants to write sonnets about her eyes. 

By the time Dawn turns her head again to look at Xander, he's asleep, still on his side facing them, his chest rising and falling slowly. "Oh, good," Dawn says softly. "He was really tired." 

"Almost got us all killed," Spike agrees. "Well, you lot, anyway. I'm already there." 

Her hand squeezes his. "If I didn't freak out every time I start to drive, he wouldn't have to do so much." 

"If we drove part of the night, neither of you'd have to spend so much time behind the wheel," Spike points out. He'd brought it up earlier and Xander had dismissed the idea, but he thinks that if he can get Dawn to see reason now, she'll be able to talk Xander into it. 

"I know," Dawn says. They're barely talking above a whisper. "It's just... you know. Scarier. At night." 

Spike turns her around so she's looking at him, running his hand over her hair. "Won't let anything happen to you, pet. What if we started out three or four hours before sunrise? I could drive until then -- that way if there are days when you and Xander aren't up for it, we'll still make time, yeah?" 

Dawn nods. "And maybe we'd get there sooner." 'There' isn't anything but a vague region on a map at this point, but they've all talked it over, the four of them, and agreed that they'll try it. Drive around, see if they can't find a place to settle. It's good farming country, crops and cows, which means food for all of them. If it's not the right place, they'll know soon enough, and Wesley's got two or three other options waiting in the wings. 

"You'd like to, wouldn't you," Spike asks her. 

"Get there?" Dawn smiles. "Yeah. I mean, it'd be nice to have somewhere to stay, you know? For good." 

For the first time, Spike thinks maybe he does. It's not simple, but with Dawn there, and a couple of other blokes to talk to, humans that accept him -- well, yeah, he's a bit soft in the head for that sort of thing, and he knows it. No point denying it to himself. 

It might not be what he'd have hoped for, if he'd been planning the perfect world for himself, and her. But it's close. 

* * *

Driving at night isn't as scary as Dawn thought it would be. For one thing, she can sit in the front with Spike, which makes it better. No matter what she's said to him \-- no matter what she knows, deep down -- it does feel like he can protect her. Keep anything from happening to her. He's safety. 

After the first night, it's already a pattern. Get up when Spike tells them it's time, groggy and half-awake. Dawn wishes for coffee then, even though she never really liked it, because at least that would make the transition easier. But she knows it won't take more than a few days for their bodies to adjust, so it's not that bad, really. 

Between Spike and Xander, they get Wesley to the car. Wesley can walk now, but he's not very steady, and the thought of him falling is enough to make Dawn's stomach flip with anxiety, so they walk with him, one on either side. He's still pale, but he looks better, Dawn thinks. At least a little. And he's awake more, and eating more, and those both have to be good things. 

Wesley sleeps in the car -- he still sleeps a lot, actually, which Spike says is good -- and Xander sits back there with him. Sometimes, when Wesley is awake, she can hear them talking. Just soft little murmurs, and sometimes the tone of Xander's voice that means he's trying to lighten the mood. 

On the side of the road, just before sunrise, they drive past an abandoned pickup truck. Next to it is a small collection of gas cans, and they can always use gas that doesn't require the complicated method Xander and Wesley developed for getting it from gas stations, so Spike pulls over and stops the car. 

"What's up?" Xander asks. 

"Somebody left some gas cans," Dawn tells him. "We're just going to -- " 

" _I'm_ just going to check them out," Spike says. 

"Since when do you get to decide that I stay in the car?" Dawn asks, opening her door and getting out. She looks around, though -- she might be stubborn, but she's not stupid. 

Spike gets out too, slamming his door shut with a loud bang that kind of echoes into the distance. It's so quiet -- freaky quiet. Dawn still hasn't gotten used to that, even in all this time. "Good girls do as they're told," Spike says, coming over to her side of the car, but walking past her and kicking one of the gas cans. It shakes and makes a sloshing sound. 

"I thought you liked me the way I am," Dawn says. She's not really worried that he's mad -- if he was, really mad, she'd know it. Everyone would. 

Crouching down, Spike opens the gas can he kicked and takes off the lid, sniffing the opening and then wincing back away from it like it smells horrible. Which okay, gas kind of does, and it's probably worse if you're a vampire. "This one's good," he says, checking out the little funnel that's attached to the can. He looks up at her. "You just here for the scenery, or are you going to help?" 

Dawn marches over and snatches up the gas can -- which is heavier than she was expecting it to be -- and then goes over to the car, opening the little door to the gas cap. "Look at me," she says. "Helping." 

By the time she's done putting the gas into the car, Spike's brought two more cans over for her. "This all gonna fit?" he asks. 

"I guess we'll find out." 

He stands behind her and watches as she pours all of the gas in. After a minute, Dawn notices that he's inching closer until his front is pressed up against her back. He moves her hair to one side and licks the side of her neck, making her giggle and almost drop the gas can. 

"Spike!" she squeaks. "You almost made me drop it." 

"Can't help it," Spike murmurs, breathing in. "Like the way you smell." 

Dawn concentrates carefully on getting the rest of the gas into the car instead of wasting it on the ground, but it's hard with Spike's hand on her hip and him kissing her ear and neck. His teeth scrape over her skin and she feels goosebumps go up all over. 

He's hungry again, she knows that, but they haven't had any luck finding anything in the past few days. She's not worried, though. She wouldn't mind if he wanted to feed from her -- she would have let him do it the last time if he hadn't been so out of control. She knows he'd stop himself from going too far, as long as he wasn't totally out of his mind with hunger, which is one of the reasons she wishes he'd just do it now and get it over with. 

But she's not worried. Not yet. 

Spike's hand closes around hers on the handle of the gas can, taking it from her and dropping it onto the ground somewhere behind them, his fingers finding her nipple and pinching it, making her gasp as he rubs his growing erection against her ass. 

"You guys okay?" Xander's voice calls from inside the car. Dawn's glad the windows are blacked over and he can't see out. 

"Yeah," Spike says, sounding frustrated. 

Dawn turns in his arms and kisses him. "It'll be sunrise soon anyway," she says. 

Spike nods. "Right. Let me just check and make sure we've got it all." He turns back to the abandoned car, bending down to grab the last gas can that even Dawn can see looks empty, and then he freezes and starts to straighten up really slowly. "Dawn, get back in the car." 

It's the way he says her name that tells her this is something serious, but before she can do what he says, she hears a sound behind her, a low growl like a dog. 

She takes a step closer to the middle of the car, turning so that her back is against it, and sees a vampire. Its clothes are weird, all black leather like a cave man's or something, and it's skinny -- really skinny, skinnier than Spike's ever been. It looks like, well, the walking dead, pale, and its eyes are all sunken and dark, almost black. "Spike?" she says. 

That's when she hears another growl and realizes that there are more of them, and that they're totally surrounded. 

"Get in the car. _Now_." Spike's voice is tight and controlled, and Dawn can feel her heart beating way too fast. Louder, he shouts, "Harris! Get in front and turn on the bloody car!" 

It's too early -- God, another fifteen minutes and the sun would have been up, Dawn thinks, inching toward the front of the car without taking her eyes off the vampire that's closest to her. She's not even sure it _is_ a vampire -- it looks so freaky and weird, skeletal, like an albino, almost. It's standing there looking at her, but not really moving. 

Not yet. 

Xander opens the side door, almost bumping Dawn with it, and looks out. "Oh, shit," he breathes. 

"Yeah." Spike doesn't turn around as the other vampires Dawn can see creep closer, snarling. "Now start the fucking car." 

Dawn can hear Xander scramble into the front seat -- it's awkward to do that even for her, with how tight the space is, so she knows it's going to take him time to get there. Her own hand is on the back of the front passenger seat, her heel balanced just inside the car. 

One of the weird vampires growls again, louder, and Spike tells it, "You don't want to mess with us, mate, trust me." He sounds confident, but Dawn knows he's not. 

She's inside the car now, and the engine starts up, and that's when one of the vampires rushes forward -- so fast -- and hits Spike, sending him sprawling. 

"Spike!" 

"Go!" Spike yells at Xander, as the vampire jumps onto him. 

Xander guns the engine, like maybe he thinks that will scare off the vampires or distract them or something. "No!" Xander shouts back. "Dawn, get one of Wesley's guns. Now!" 

They're under the seat in a box, but Dawn's heart is beating so fast that her hands aren't working right, and she can't take her eyes off of Spike, who's on the ground wrestling with the other vampire. She dimly wonders why the rest of the vampires aren't attacking them too. 

"Would you -- " Spike is on his knees, and he punches the other vampire, hard, across the face, but it acts like it hardly felt the blow. " -- _Go_! Get out of here!" 

"We're not leaving you here!" Xander shouts back. He's fumbling in the glove compartment, where Dawn hopes hopes hopes there's another gun, because sometimes they keep them there, and Spike pushes the vamp away from him and gets up. 

But the freaky vamp is too fast, and Dawn can see the look of surprise on Spike's face when it grabs him from behind and sinks its fangs into his neck. 

She screams his name, and Xander is swearing in the front seat and the other vamps are moving closer, and Dawn can't believe that it's all over, everything they've done and this is it, and... 

There's a bang next to her ear, and the scary vamp that's feeding from Spike just... explodes. One second its head is there, and the next second it's just gone, the rest of its body slumping to the ground. Dawn turns her head and sees Wesley on his knees, his elbow braced on the seat and the gun he just used to shoot the vampire still in his hand. 

Spike slams into her, the forward momentum of his stagger toward the car something that he can't stop in time, and they both land hard on the floor of the car, Spike on top of her. "Go," he gasps, probably to Xander. "Go, go!" 

The car lurches into motion, tires screeching on the pavement. 

"Hang on," Xander says, and there's a huge thump, like a thousand times bigger than hitting a squirrel. The car skids and corrects itself, Wesley swearing in the back seat and Xander swearing again in the front, and the door's still open but Dawn doesn't care as long as they're getting away. 

When Spike manages to push himself upright and get the door shut -- it's harder than you'd think, what with how fast they're going -- Dawn crawls into the front so that she can look out the sideview mirror, back at the freaky vamps who've already given up on chasing them. 

So she gets to see it when the first sun's rays make them burst into flames, then collapse into dust. 

* * *

"I can't believe he's dead," Xander says, dejectedly kicking a rock and watching as it spins off into some dust at the side of the road. 

"You do realize," Dawn asks him, "that normal people don't call cars 'he,' right?" 

"That's not the point," Xander says, gesturing at the SUV and its totally dented-in front. They'd managed to go for about an hour before the car had started overheating, and then they'd limped along until they'd found a good place to stop. 

There's steam coming out of the front of the car, and a sharp smell of what Dawn thinks is anti-freeze. 

"Let's get on with it, shall we?" Spike calls from inside the smashed-up car. 

"Right," Xander calls back, and they go in search of a good replacement car. It doesn't take long to find one, and it's not even all that different from the one they've been using. That's one of the benefits, Dawn thinks, of living in a country where everyone had like three or four cars -- there are car dealerships _everywhere_ , and apparently demons only have so much interest in cars, because this one's barely been touched. The keys to all the cars are in the office, which isn't even locked, and it doesn't take long to find the right ones. 

Of course, after all that, the car doesn't start. It tries -- it makes one funny grumbling sound, but then nothing, and they have to jump start it from the smooshed car, which doesn't take long once they manage to push it across the parking lot. They only let it bump into another car once, which Dawn thinks is pretty good considering they don't know what they're doing. 

"Look, it's crying," Dawn says, pointing at the two small puddles of greenish tears under the radiator of the old car. "It doesn't want us to leave it." 

Xander gives her a weird look. "And you think _I'm_ abnormal because I _named_ the car?" 

"Wait, it has a _name_? I thought it just had a gender!" Dawn follows him as he sprays black paint on the rear windows of the new car. 

"You're the one acting like it's upset that we're abandoning it," Xander points out, stepping back and checking out the windows, then adding another few sprays of paint. 

"As long as you don't abandon us," Spike calls from the old car. "Getting pretty boring in here, you know." 

"We're almost done," Dawn tells him. 

Spike has to take the blanket off the inside of the smooshed car and use it to run to the new one before they can put it up again, which works out okay. Then Dawn and Xander help Wesley move too -- well, mostly Xander, with Dawn kind of standing there watching, hovering close enough to help in a hypothetical kind of way, even though what she's really doing inside her head is praying that Wesley doesn't start to keel over, because where is she supposed to grab him that won't just hurt him more? 

Luckily, he really _is_ getting better, and he doesn't seem to need much help. 

They start driving again after a brief argument between Xander and Dawn about who 'gets' to drive. 

"You're the one who smooshed the other car!" Dawn protests. "I think I should get to drive this one first." 

"I didn't crash it," Xander says, but he gets into the passenger seat anyway. "A vampire jumped in front of the car! Not to mention hitting the vampire was a good thing." He frowns. "If that actually was a vampire. It was, right?" 

"Seemed like it from where I was standing," Spike grumbles, rubbing his neck, which looks a little bit better than it did before. 

"It did appear to be a vampire," Wesley says. Dawn can't see him from where he's sitting, but he sounds okay. They checked his bandages, after, and it didn't seem like he was bleeding or anything, even though that was a heck of a lot more action that he's seen in days. "I'd never seen one like it before." 

"Where do you think it came from?" Xander asks. 

"Hard to say." Wesley hesitates, then adds, "It's quite likely we'll encounter more creatures that are new to us as time goes on. When the Hellmouth opened..." 

"All sorts of nasty beasties broke on through to the other side," Spike finishes for him. 

"Precisely," Wesley says. "Although I doubt that was what Morrison was thinking when he wrote those particular lyrics." 

Dawn looks at Xander, but he just shrugs. 

"Vampires are a sort of hybrid between demons and humans," Wesley continues. "It's possible that the ones that attacked us were a purer form." 

"That mean I'm tainted?" Spike asks. Dawn can tell he's just pretending to be offended. 

"No, not at all," Wesley says quickly. "That wasn't what I meant. I -- " 

"Relax," Spike tells him. "I'm just giving you a hard time." 

"Wow," Xander says. "I didn't think you'd ever pick on anyone but me." 

Spike snorts as Dawn starts up the car, adjusting the mirrors and the height of the seat. "Might as well spread the torment." 

Xander is looking back over his shoulder. "So, Wes? Welcome to the club." 

"Thanks," Wesley says dryly, and Dawn smiles. 

They drive for about an hour before Dawn starts to feel like she's losing it, then she and Xander switch places and they keep going. Spike wants to get an early start again, so they stop before sunset and find a house to sleep in for the night. There's something Dawn likes about going into someone else's house -- or, at least, what _used_ to be someone else's house -- and going through all their things. Every once in a while it's sad, like when she finds some lady's journal and remembers all her diaries, and Giles' journal, and finding out that she wasn't really Buffy's sister, and she tries not to think about that anymore. That was, like, a different life. Totally. 

But anyway, most of the time it's cool. She finds clothes, and jewelry, and pictures. It's kind of fun to look through somebody's photographs and imagine who they were. She makes up different lives for them, too. 

Spike comes into the house, steam -- or smoke, or whatever it is -- rising from the blanket he has over him. He looks around as he drops the blanket onto the floor next to the door. "Nice," he says approvingly. Dawn's not sure why he thinks so until she sees the scrawny dog blinking at them anxiously from the doorway to what's probably the kitchen. 

"I'll get him," she says, crouching down and holding out her hand. "You'll just scare him." Slowly, she creeps toward the dog, crooning things like, "Good boy. It's okay... good dog,,, who's a good boy?" The dog looks nervous, twitchy. It keeps glancing off over its shoulder toward the kitchen. 

She's within a couple of feet of him when Xander and Wes come in through the front door and the dog freaks, spinning around and running, its claws scrabbling on the floor. Dawn runs after it, turning the corner around the island in the middle of the kitchen just to see its hind feet as it disappears through one of those pet flap things in the back door. 

"Crap," she says, and slams her hand against the door. "Ow!" Stupid, she tells herself, looking at the small but bloody gash on her palm. 

"You okay, pet?" Spike asks, coming into the kitchen. Dawn can tell by the way he's walking that he's really hungry \-- he looks paler than usual, and the big bite mark on his neck isn't gone yet, when normally it would have been by now. 

"Yeah," Dawn says, frowning at him and then her hand. "But look! He got out. Dumb dog." 

Spike looks at the dog flap. "Smart dog," he says. "Knew he was gonna be dinner." 

"I guess." Dawn watches as Spike takes her hand and looks at it. "It's just a scratch." 

"It's more than that," Spike says, lifting her hand to his mouth and licking it. 

It doesn't hurt -- at least, not any more than it did already -- and it gives Dawn a warm feeling in the pit of her stomach, kind of tingly. She closes her eyes as his tongue licks across the little gash. 

When she opens her eyes again, Spike's in game face. He glances up at her and seems ready to pull away, but Dawn quickly grabs his wrist with her other hand, keeping him where he is. "No," she says. "It's okay." 

Spike nods, then, slowly, he pushes her up against the counter and moves his mouth to her throat. "This okay, too?" he asks, his voice different with a mouthful of fangs. 

She doesn't need to think about the answer, because it's Spike, and she loves him. "Yes." 

* * *

Spike's teeth are sharp, and it hurts as they bite into her, but Dawn's distracted by Spike's hand cupping between her legs, pressing on her in just the right spot to make her whimper softly, in the good way. She can feel her nipples get hard inside her bra, aching a little bit each time Spike sucks on her neck. 

"Hey, sorry about -- " Xander comes around the corner into the kitchen and stops. "Dawn?" 

"Mm-hm?" Her voice is high-pitched and quavery, even without real words. 

"You okay?" 

"Mm-hm." She squeaks a little bit when Spike pushes his finger harder over her clit. 

Xander looks away. "Okay, I _so_ don't want to be watching this." 

"Then don't," Dawn says, curling her hand around the back of Spike's neck as he feeds. It hurts, but it's a good hurt, and she doesn't want him to stop until he has to. The idea that he can stay alive -- well, okay, not _alive_ , but whatever -- from this... it's, like, amazing. 

"Are you sure?" Xander asks. 

Spike pulls away and turns his head. "Bugger. Off," he says. 

"Yeah, well, I don't take orders from guys with... huh. Guess there's no rhyme there." Xander looks disappointed on top of the uncomfortable he was already looking. 

"Be a good lad and go give your boyfriend a blow job," Spike says, and Dawn blushes, letting her hair fall forward over her face to hide it. "I'm sure he'd appreciate it." 

"Okay... first off, what Wesley and I do is none of your business, And second, what with me letting you sample the Harris vintage, I think I've got a right to make sure this is what Dawn wants." Xander sounds stubborn. 

"It is," Dawn says. 

"Are you sure?" Xander asks. 

Spike gives an exasperated sigh and changes back into his human face. "There, see? Everything's under control, including me." 

That seems to reassure Xander more than anything else so far. "Well... okay. I mean, don't get me wrong -- I'm still not thrilled about this. But as long as Dawn says she knows what she's doing..." 

"She's not daft," Spike says. "And she's not a child." 

That makes Dawn feel all warm and... something. Respected, maybe. Whatever it is, it's a good feeling. "It's okay, Xander." 

Xander pauses for a second, then nods. "Me and Wes will be in the other room. Where I will, I hasten to add, _not_ be thinking about the groiny aspects of what I just walked in on." 

She probably would have said something else, but Spike just nods and goes into vamp face again, and she forgets about Xander, and Wesley, and pretty much everything else, too, as Spike feeds from her and then turns her around and fucks her against the countertop, with one hand over her mouth to help muffle her cries as she comes. 

* * *

They're still straightening their clothes, after, when Dawn says, "I told you it'd be okay." 

"What's that?" Spike asks, doing up the front of his jeans. He's still distracted by the faint taste of her blood in his mouth -- he'd been careful not to take too much, but his appetite's sated for now. 

"This," Dawn says. "The whole blood-drinking thing." 

"Yeah." This time, he thinks. He doesn't let other people hide from ugly truths, and he won't let himself, either, but no point in scaring her. Besides, maybe she's right. He'd been dizzy with hunger after that proto-vamp had fed off him -- good thing Wesley interrupted that when he did -- and not much better when he'd licked the first taste of Dawn's blood off her palm, but he'd managed to keep control of himself. 

Xander and Wesley are curled up on the sofa in the front room, with Wesley leaning back against Xander's chest. It's the closest Spike can recall them sitting since Wesley lost the arm. 

Dawn's cheeks are flushed, and it must be obvious to Harris that she doesn't want to talk about what he walked in on in the kitchen, because he doesn't say anything except for, "Spike, you want to help me board up a few of these windows?" 

"Yeah, okay," Spike says, nodding. 

Doesn't take long to find the work room in the basement \-- seems like just about every house has one. There's even some wood, though not enough -- they have to pull apart some furniture for that. 

"I won't be sorry when we find somewhere to stay," Xander says, grunting with the effort as he kicks one of the legs off an old table they found. 

"Be nice not to have to go through this every night," Spike agrees. 

"So... how'd it go?" Xander asks finally, as they're gathering up armfuls of boards to carry upstairs. 

"Thought you didn't want to think about it." Spike smirks. 

"Not _that_ ," Xander says, irritably. "The blood thing." 

"You saw her," Spike says. "Still walking and talking, wasn't she?" 

"Yeah," Xander says. Then he's quiet, like for once he's got the sense to let a matter drop. 

Typically, that makes Spike want to say more. "It was fine," he says, then adds, "Last thing I want's to hurt her." 

Xander stands up, his arms full of boards, a hammer tucked under his arm. His one brown eye looks at Spike steadily. "I know," he says. "That's why we're gonna make sure you don't have to." 

* * *

Spike and Xander are downstairs making crashing sounds while Dawn circles the first floor of the house checking out the doors and windows. The front door's easy -- it wasn't even shut when they got there, but there are good locks, so that's fine. It's not even like boards across the windows are going to keep anything out, not really -- it's more just to give them time to defend themselves, or whatever. 

The windows seem simple enough to board up, so she moves back to the kitchen. The back door has glass on it, little diamonds in a pattern so that you can see into the backyard. The sun is starting to set, and with the pale orange glow falling across the green grass in the yard, the world looks... normal. 

Mesmerized, Dawn steps closer, pressing her nose against one of the pieces of glass, looking out and pretending, just for a minute, that nothing's changed. 

Then she hears the crash of wood splintering in the basement, and she steps back again, making sure the door is locked. 

When she goes back to the living room, Wesley is still sitting on the couch. He's taking less pain medication now -- she's not sure how much less, because he has the bottle of pills in his pocket and takes them when he needs them. At least once, she's worried that he might get addicted to them or something, but then she remembers that it's not like it will be easy for him to get more, so even if he does -- which he probably won't -- it'll be, like, a short-term addiction. 

"How does it look?" Wesley asks. 

Dawn shrugs. "Okay." 

"You sound somewhat less than thrilled." 

She sighs, then nods. "I guess. It's just... one more place, you know?" 

"You're looking forward to finding somewhere to stay," Wesley says. 

"Aren't you?" Dawn asks. 

"At this point, I'd settle for remembering not to try to reach for things with an arm that's no longer there," Wesley says. "But yes, it would be nice." 

Dawn presses her fingers against the sore spot on her throat and thinks there are some times when nice isn't a good enough word. 

* * *

Two more days, and Dawn's bouncing on the front seat next to Xander as they drive into the area Wesley's chosen as their first shot at somewhere permanent to stay. 

"Calm down," Spike tells her from the back, where he's sitting next to Wesley. "You're shaking the whole car." 

"I can't help it," Dawn squeals. 

"Here," Xander says, and there's a rustle of paper. "Look at the map." 

The car stops bouncing, then Dawn asks, "What am I looking for?" 

"I don't care," Xander says. "Pick a street name or something." 

There's only a few seconds of silence before the car bounces again, and Dawn squeals, "Cows!" 

That piques Spike's interest. "Really?" Earlier, before the sun came up, they'd been driving on roads with fields on either side. Different-looking when no one's been cutting the grass back, but fields all the same, and they hadn't seen a single cow. 

"Yes!" Dawn says excitedly. 

"Lots of them," Xander adds. Nice to know that someone knows what's important. 

"And a house!" Dawn says. "A big one, and there are fences, and... two houses!" 

"That's a barn," Xander say dryly. 

"Oh. Okay. One house and one barn." 

The car slows and turns, the road under their tires less even, and Spike reaches out a hand to steady Wesley. "Okay?" he asks. 

"Yes, thank you." Wesley's level of alertness, at least, seems just about back to normal, and the stump of his arm's making progress toward healing, even if it's got a long way to go. No infection, though, and Spike thinks that means there won't be now unless something drastic happens. 

Slowing to a crawl, the car bumps and trundles its way up a slope. "I'll go check the door," Xander says, stopping the car and putting it in park. 

"Don't go in," Spike says. "Let me check it out first." 

"There are like a thousand windows," Xander tells him. "Unless you want to burst into flames, I'm gonna have to make at least a quick pass." 

"No," Spike says stubbornly. "Got a blanket, don't I?" 

"I could go with Xander," Dawn offers. 

" _No_ ," Spike and Xander say at the same time. 

"Fine," Xander says, sighing. "Give me a minute to deal with the door and we'll go together." He gets out and starts for the house, which Spike can't really see from where he's sitting. 

"You got a weapon?" he asks Wesley. 

"Of course," Wesley says. 

"Good." Spike thinks chances are good that they're about as safe as it gets, if there are a bunch of live cows walking around, but still. At least he knows he can count on Wesley to protect Dawn when it comes down to the wire. 

"The door's open," Dawn says. 

"You stay here," Spike tells her, grabbing a blanket and opening the door, running toward the porch. Once he's under the porch roof, he gets a chance to actually look around for the first time. Big house -- and yeah, like Xander said, lots of windows -- and lots of land. 

"I don't think anybody -- or any _thing_ \-- s'been in here for a long time," Xander says, standing just inside the doorway. 

With the blanket still over him, Spike nods. Place smells like it's been empty since the apocalypse -- full of dust and stale air and something else even less pleasant. "Let's check it out, then." 

They circle the first floor, where everything's got such a thick coat of dust on it that there's no way the house is anything but empty, then move to the second floor, where they find the cause of the unpleasant smell Spike's been aware of since downstairs -- one demon and one human, both dead and in pieces, half-mummified, skin stretched thin over broken bones. 

"Gah," Xander says, going over to open one of the windows while Spike stayed near the door, away from the stripes of sunshine on the wood floor. "Okay, seriously gross." 

"Better dead than alive," Spike says pragmatically. "Have to clean the place out good, but it could be worse." 

"Oh, I'm not arguing with you there," Xander says. "Dead demons are way higher on my list than live ones." He stands there looking down at the remains. "I wonder if there are hazard suits in any of the closets." 

"We'll worry about it later," Spike says. Worse comes to worst he can take care of the bodies himself, although he doesn't think he'll say that just now. Wouldn't kill Harris to build himself a stronger stomach, after all. 

Rest of the house is fine. There's things they'll need to change if they end up staying, but Spike feels reassured. 

In the foyer again, Spike and Xander exchange a long look and tentative smiles. "Should we bring them in?" Xander asks. 

"Yeah," Spike says. "Let's bring them home." 

* * *

"Would you stop bloody laughing?" Spike asks crossly, shooting Dawn an annoyed look. 

"Sorry," she says, from where she's perched on the fence. "It's just..." 

"Yeah," Xander says, panting slightly. "A little less laughing and a little more help could be a thing." 

"I don't want her in here," Spike says, not for the first time. Cows might be stupid -- not that you'd know it from the way they're getting away from him and Xander -- but they're also bloody big animals, and the last thing he wants is for Dawn to get stepped on. 

Xander creeps closer to the two cows they've managed to lure closer to the house with a bucket of grain, a loose loop of rope in his hand. He gets within a yard or so of the cows before they turn and trot off again. "Yeah, keep this up!" Xander yells at them. "You'll be hamburger." 

Dawn moans softly from her seat on the wooden fence. "Hamburgers..." 

"We'll have to be patient," Wesley tells her. "Sooner or later one of the herd will injure itself seriously enough that it can't be saved, and then you can have as many hamburgers as you like." 

"From one cow?" Dawn asks, giving him a look of disbelief. 

"I'll point out again that one well-placed bullet could solve this problem for us," Xander says, coming back over to stand next to Spike and watching the cows as they cautiously amble back toward the bucket of grain. 

"We have to think ahead," Wesley says. "If the herd became ill, we could lose most of them almost overnight. We need to wait until we build up their numbers before we start killing them." 

"And Spike can take blood from them without killing them," Dawn says. "If you guys can ever catch one, that is." 

They'd spent the first night in the house sleeping all in one room on the second floor -- they'd got used to it, Spike thinks, plus the other decent sized room with a bed big enough for two people had moldering dead bodies in it. Once they'd got up, late morning, they'd spent a few hours boarding up most of the windows on the first floor and covering the ones on the second with blankets and towels so that Spike can wander the house without worrying about stepping into a stray beam of sunlight. 

House is old-fashioned, which works in their favor in more ways than one. Old claw-foot bathtub in the bathroom on the first floor, which means they'll be able to heat water on the wood stove in the kitchen and bathe somewhere other than the river, which is too bloody cold, at this time of year, at least. There's a water pump in the side yard \-- they have to lug a bucket of water from the river to prime it, but after that it starts up ready enough, and the water seems good -- bit metallic tasting, Dawn says, but not bad. 

The best thing is the cows. There are just under fifty of them, if Spike and Xander's attempts to count them are in any way accurate, and they've been doing just fine all this time on their own. Fenced in, river running through the back end of the field. There's a smaller fenced area that was obviously meant to contain the bull, but apparently once the people stopped coming to check on him he decided enough was enough and broke down the fence, joining the rest of the cows in the bigger field. Must have had himself some fun, too, since a couple of the cows look like they're expecting. 

"I wish the babies would come over so we could see them," Dawn says. 

"They're skittish now, but they'll get used to us in time," Wesley says, leaning against the fence with his hip and draping his good arm over the top rail. It's the most relaxed pose Spike's ever seen him in, if you don't count when he was unconscious. "And they aren't babies \-- they're half-grown. Newborn calves will be much smaller." He lowers his voice. "And cuter." 

"I think we should be worrying less about 'cute' and more about 'cooperative.'" Xander says over his shoulder, as he approaches the cow with her face in the bucket of grain from one side and Spike moves slowly around on the other. Xander sneaks closer, then kicks a rock with his foot, and the cow lows and bolts, scrambling off two dozen yards or so before turning and looking at them warily. "Or maybe we could breed them to be slow," Xander suggests, running a hand through his hair. "And since when are cows nocturnal?" 

"It's been months since they've seen grain," Wesley says. "It shouldn't come as any surprise that they're eager for it." 

The rest of the cows are standing further off, milling around. The bull, thankfully, seems more nervous about being around humans again than any of the rest of them, and is off in the back corner of the field. Spike thinks he might even be dozing. "Heck of a job he does, taking care of his family," he comments, before thinking about how it might sound. 

But neither Wesley nor Xander says anything about it, for which Spike is eternally grateful. 

Well, five minutes grateful, at any rate. 

"I think once you catch one, we should leave it tied up," Dawn says. "Otherwise we're going to have to do this every night." 

"No bloody way," Spike says fervently, wiping his muddy hands on his jeans again. 

"If we want to keep her tied, we'll need to move her to water and grass," Wesley says. 

"I'll do it," Dawn says. "I don't mind. I think they're kind of pretty." 

"You would," Spike tells her. 

"Shh," Xander says, waving a hand at them. "I think I've -- " He lunges forward suddenly, looping the rope around the startled cow's neck. She moos in protest and tosses her head, backing away frantically. "Uh, Spike... a little help here?" he says as the cow drags him several feet. 

Spike grabs onto the end of the rope that's draped on the ground and hangs on, digging in the heels of his boots. With Xander's weight and his both, the cow stops, and after a minute she lets Xander lead her over to the fence, where he ties her up carefully. 

Dawn jumps down -- on the other side of the fence, Spike notes -- and comes over closer to the cow. "Good girl," she says, reaching through and petting the cow's face. "It's okay. No one's going to hurt you." She looks up at Spike. "They can't tell when you're lying, right?" 

"Not a chance," Spike says, as Xander climbs back over the fence. 

"Good." Dawn goes back to soothing the cow with pretty lies, and Spike looks at the beast doubtfully. It's one thing to drink cow's blood that comes in a nice packet, but something else to go at it direct from the source. 

"You might want to use a sharp implement," Wesley suggests. "A quick jab into a large vein would be relatively painless, and you could collect the blood in a bowl." 

Dawn grimaces. "Eww." 

"The Masai in Kenya mix cow's blood with milk and drink it," Wesley says. "Of course, they also block the hole in the cow's jugular with a mixture of dung and mud." 

"Okay, again I say, _eww_ ," Dawn says. "Can't they just use a band-aid?" 

Xander chuckles. "Yeah, from one of those conveniently located Walgreens." 

She gives him a look and tosses back her hair. "Well, it's not my fault they live in, like, the middle of nowhere." 

"Dawn, look around," Xander says, gesturing with one arm. " _We_ live in the middle of nowhere." 

Dawn does look around -- they all do. It's dark, but the moon is more than half full and they can see clearly across the field all the way to the far side. Well, Spike can, at any rate. Hard to know how much the rest of them can see. 

"Yeah, okay," Dawn says. "But we're here, and we're together. That's what matters, right?" 

Not caring what Xander or Wesley think, Spike reaches his hand through the fence toward her, and Dawn puts her warm little hand in his. "Yeah," Spike says, his voice a bit less steady than he'd like it to be. "That's what matters." 

* * *

**Epilogue: Six months later**

" _God_ , yeah," Spike groans, collapsing down on top of Dawn as he finishes coming, his weight warm and comforting under the thick wool blankets. He props himself up enough to be able to kiss her again, then licks the side of her throat where the little wound from a few days ago is almost totally healed up. It still makes her shiver, though. 

"I love you," she tells him. 

"Love you, too." Spike pushes his cock deeper into her, but she knows there's no way she's going to come again. 

The other big bed in the room across the wide hallway squeaks and thumps against the wall rhythmically, and in a high falsetto, Xander calls, "Wes! Yeah, give it to me good, big boy!" and Dawn bursts into helpless giggles, covering her face with one hand in embarrassment even though Spike's the only one who can see her. 

"Shut the bloody hell up!" Spike calls back. 

"Hey, it's not my fault that you're so loud," Xander says, but then he does shut up. Dawn can imagine Wesley shushing him, telling him to stop teasing them. 

It's not like, with the bedrooms right across the hall from each other, they don't all know what's going on. But it's true that Spike's the loudest of any of them, even if Dawn _has_ heard Xander and Wesley on more than one occasion. At least they try to be quiet about it, though. 

Spike is grumbling something as he moves off of her and collapses down onto the mattress, on what's usually her side because that's where the room is. Her pillow, already hanging half off the bed, falls onto the floor, and he grumbles again and leans down to get it. 

There's a pause that's just long enough for Dawn to realize what he's discovered, but not long enough for her to think up a good excuse. So when Spike pulls himself back up with the handful of old magazines in his hand, she still hasn't thought of what to say. 

"These yours?" Spike asks. 

"What?" Dawn asks, wondering if she can just pretend they aren't. 

"These magazines with the folded over corners," Spike says, holding up the stack so that she can see the top one. It's her favorite because there's a big article with lots of quotes from readers. She's stared at it so many times that she can almost picture in her head what all of them look like, even though she's never seen any of them. And of course they're probably all dead now anyway. 

"Nope. Not mine." 

But Spike opens up the top one and a candy bar wrapper, carefully twisted into a bookmark just like she always twists them, falls out onto the bed. "Really," he says. 

"Yeah, okay, so they're mine." Dawn snatches the magazines away from him and flounces out of bed, going over to the bureau and shoving them into one of the open drawers. "I like looking at them. So what?" 

Spike just looks at her, then says, "Come here, pet." 

It's not fair, Dawn thinks. He _knows_ that when he calls her that, she gets all melty. She goes over and sits on the bed, and he pulls her down and into his arms, untangling the ponytail holder from the end of her braid and sliding his fingers through her plaited hair until it's all loose and wavy. 

He kisses her softly. "Don't have to hide stuff from me." 

"I know," she says, even though some things are just too hard to talk about. 

Spike slides his hand down to her stomach and runs his fingertips over the skin there, making her shiver. "You been thinking about it?" 

"Sometimes," Dawn says. It's not that she _wants_ to think about it, but sometimes she can't help it. 

"It's just as well," Spike says. "Way the world is now... you wouldn't want that." 

"I wouldn't?" She buries her face in Spike's chest as soon as she finishes saying it, because it's not like she doesn't know that it's a messy topic for discussion. Which is why she hadn't planned on bringing it up. Like, ever. 

But Spike moves back, gets a hand under her chin and makes her look up at him. "Love? Tell me what you're thinking." 

"Why?" Dawn asks miserably. "What's the point?" 

"Might make you feel better," Spike suggests, rubbing his thumb across her lower lip. "Whatever it is, we'll deal with it." 

She can't, though. She knows talking about it isn't going to change anything, and it'll probably just make her feel worse. So she tilts her chin up and kisses him instead, parting her lips and letting her tongue flick hesitantly into his mouth to meet his. 

Spike groans softly and pulls her closer, sliding his hand down to fondle her ass as he makes the kiss deeper. She's wet between her legs from before, and it doesn't take more than a minute of kissing for Spike to get hard again. When Dawn reaches down to curl her hand around his cock, it's sticky and warm. 

She loves that he's so easily distracted -- it makes getting out of conversations like this one so much quicker. She can get him all hot and bothered in about two minutes, and by the time they've had sex, he almost always forgets what they'd been talking about. 

"Fuck, pet," Spike gasps, pulling her up onto her knees, sliding two fingers into her. "Here, love, turn around. Like this." He guides her into position on her hands and knees, facing the head of the bed, then gets behind her and thrusts inside. 

Dawn bites her lip when he starts to move. It doesn't seem possible that anything could feel this good, but it does, every time. One of his hands is on her hip, and the other one slides slowly up her side to cup her breast, the edge of his finger rubbing back and forth over her nipple with every thrust. Her breathing is faster now, quick little gasps that get more high-pitched as Spike fucks her harder and then pulls her up onto her knees again. He wraps an arm around her waist and mouths at her neck, sucking at the skin. It always makes her shiver when he does that. 

"Not gonna bite you," Spike murmurs, slipping his hand down to play with her clit. "But God, I love to. Love to taste you." 

"Spike," she whimpers, trembling. 

"That's right, pet. You know I'll always take care of you." And Spike makes her come. 

He comes, too, growling and continuing to thrust through it, but more slowly, and when they're done and lying down again, with Spike curled up around her, even Dawn has almost forgotten what they were talking about. 

* * *

There are times when Spike thinks that Dawn underestimates him. They aren't often enough that it bothers him, but he knows it, and what's more, he knows how to use it to his advantage. Knows how to wait until she's thinking about something else before bringing it up, throwing her off balance and getting an honest answer out of her, her eyes startled and wide. 

They talk about it three or four times, once in the kitchen while they're cooking dinner -- he doesn't mind helping, even though he doesn't eat the food, himself, more than a bite or two -- just before Xander and Wesley come in and interrupt them. Dawn goes quiet, then, her lips pressed tightly together, and Spike knows not to push her. 

"Everything okay?" Xander asks. 

"Yeah," Dawn says, sitting down. 

It's an uncomfortable meal -- Wesley and Xander can tell something's wrong, but they don't know what. Spike waits until they're in bed that night to bring it up again. 

"Might make you feel better to come right out and say it," Spike says. 

"What?" Dawn asks, feigning innocence. 

Spike sighs and runs a hand through his hair. If she won't say it, he will. "That you want to have a baby." 

She's tense in his arms. Doesn't say anything, although Spike notes that means she's not denying it. 

"There's nothing wrong with wanting that, love," he says soothingly. 

"But we can't," Dawn says in a little voice. 

" _I_ can't," Spike corrects her. "Doesn't mean you can't." 

She turns her head to look over her shoulder at him. 

"And don't think I'm trying to talk you into it," Spike says. When it comes right down to it, he doesn't like the idea -- there are enough chances for Dawn to get hurt as it is, without adding childbirth to the mix -- but he also doesn't like the thought of her being unhappy. 

"I'm really tired," Dawn says quietly, twining her fingers with his and pulling his arm around her more tightly. "Can we just go to sleep?" 

"Sure, love," Spike says. He kisses her shoulder, and after a bit they both drift off to sleep. 

They go back and forth on it for weeks. Spike just wants her to _talk_ about it, even if they don't find a solution right away, but she does her best to keep the conversation from happening. Answers with one word, tries to change the subject, comes up with 'no, really, seriously important' things that she needs Spike to do. 

They've settled into a schedule that suits them all now \-- sleep until noon or a bit later, to bed some time around 2 or 3 in the morning. That way they can get stuff done during daylight hours that needs to be, but Spike's not stuck in the house all day and then awake while they're all sleeping. It works. 

One night, just before sunset, Wesley comes in from outside, careful to adjust the blanket that goes over the door. "Another calf," he announces, looking as pleased with the news as if he'd given birth to the bloody thing himself. "That makes six in all. And five of them heifers." 

Spike knows that's good, but since Dawn stormed out not ten minutes before after shouting at him to stop talking about it, it's a bit hard to work up any sort of convincing expression. 

"What's wrong?" Wesley asks, concerned. 

"S'nothing," Spike says, shaking his head. 

"Somehow, I doubt that." Wesley shrugs out of his jacket and hangs it up, the movement easy, as if he's been doing it one-armed all his life. "But if you don't want to talk about it..." 

Spike shrugs, hoping Wesley won't take what he's going to say the wrong way. "Not mine to talk about." 

Wesley looks at him, then nods. "All right." Then he goes into some long explanation about the next time they'll be able to breed the cows, which Spike couldn't care less about, and that's the end of the conversation. 

He's starting to wonder, though, if he's ever going to have a conversation with a proper end to it again. 

Finally -- and it's not even all that long, because he's not a patient bloke -- he pushes her until there's no other choice but to have it out. And then there's shouting, and Xander knocking on their door to make sure everything's okay, which it's not. 

Dawn opens the door. "It's okay," she tells Xander, her face flushed. "We're just, you know." 

"Yelling and screaming?" Xander asks helpfully. 

"Yeah. But don't worry, We're fine." She shuts the door again and turns back to Spike. "This is why I didn't want to do this," she says calmly. 

"Because Xander was bound to come knocking on the door?" Spike asks. "Because you'd have to own up to the fact that you're upset about it?" More gently, he says, "Love, you haven't been sleeping, you're distracted... you can't just keep pretending nothing's wrong." 

"Why not?" Dawn says it like she knows she's being unreasonable but is determined to be stubborn anyway. It's one of the things Spike loves about her, even if it does drive him mad. 

He sits down on the bed. "Come here, pet." 

After a moment's hesitation, she does, curling up in his lap like the little girl she isn't any longer. "I know it's stupid," she whispers. "I don't _want_ to want to. You know?" 

"Yeah. But don't worry, It'll all work out." 

"How?" 

Spike nuzzles her hair. "We'll make it, won't we? Can do anything if we put our minds to it." 

Dawn snorts. "Can you make sperm?" Her tone makes it clear that she's teasing, and he likes hearing her sounding more light-hearted. 

He laughs and holds her tighter. "No. But trust me, we'll find a way around that. All right?" 

"Okay." She sighs and relaxes against him. After a few seconds, she says, "Spike?" 

"Yeah, pet?" 

"Thanks. For, well... you know." 

He knows. 

* * *

Two days later, with Dawn's hand clutching Spike's and her heart beating a little bit faster than it should be, she and Spike go into the living room where Xander and Wesley are arguing good-naturedly over how to put the sewing machine Xander found in one of the closets back together. They're both sitting on the floor, with the pieces of the machine spread out on a blanket, and just looking at all those little parts makes Dawn's head hurt. 

"No, this part has to go here," Xander says. 

"It couldn't possibly," Wesley says, pointing at the machine. "If it did, there wouldn't be any way for the mechanism to move." 

"Yes, there is. Here." Xander fiddles with the machine for a few seconds, then turns the handle and the gears move a little bit. "See?" 

Wesley looks kind of stunned. Dawn's not used to seeing that expression on his face. "Hm," he says finally. 

"You don't have to sound so surprised," Xander says, grinning. 

"No, I'm not. Well, not because -- " Wesley glances up and sees Dawn and Spike standing there in the doorway, and raises his eyebrows. "Yes?" 

"We interrupting?" Spike asks. 

"No," Wesley says, at the same time that Xander says, "Yes." They look at each other and grin. 

"Maybe we should wait," Dawn says. "I mean, we can always talk to you later." She starts to back up, but Spike doesn't let go of her hand. 

"No, it's okay," Xander says. "What's up?" 

Spike squeezes her hand, and she takes a deep breath, thinking about all the ways she could say this, and trying really hard not to think about what their answer might be. Either way, she has Spike, and that's what matters, right? 

"There's this thing," she says. "That I want." 

She glances at Spike and he nods, and then she looks back at Xander and Wesley, who are both watching her, waiting for her. 

"We were hoping maybe you could help," Dawn says.  
  
  
End.

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